FIVE   HUNDRED   DOLLARS. 


FIVE  HUNDRED  DOLLARS 


AND   OTHER   STORIES 


OF 


NEW  ENGLAND    LIFE. 


BY  C.  H.  W. 


BOSTON: 
LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND    COMPANY. 

1887. 

LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 


Copyright,  1887, 
BY  LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY. 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS  : 
JOHN  WIISON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE. 


PREFATORY    NOTE. 


OF  the  stories  which  are  collected  in  this 
volume,  four  —  "  The  Village  Convict," 
"Eli,"  "  Five  Hundred  Dollars,"  and  "  The  New 
Minister's  Great  Opportunity  "  —  were  first  pub- 
lished in  the  "  Century  Magazine."  "  By  the 
Sea  "  and  "  Saint  Patrick  "  are  now  printed  for 
the  first  time.  With  reference  to  the  story, 
"  In  Madeira  Place,"  originally  published  in  the 
"  Atlantic  Monthly,"  it  should  be  said  that  it 
was  written  before  the  passage  of  the  present 
federal  Civil  Service  laws,  and  that  in  the  more 
important  custom-houses  the  political  practices 
to  which  it  refers  have  now  been  in  great 
measure  corrected  by  the  new  system  of  exami- 
nations. In  many  branches  of  the  public  ser- 
vice, however,  both  State  and  National,  such 
abuses  remain. 


CONTENTS. 


FIVE  HUNDRED  DOLLARS     .... 

THE  VILLAGE  CONVICT      . 

SAINT  PATRICK       ...... 

ELI 

BY  THE  SEA 

IN  MADEIRA  PLACE 

THE  NEW  MINISTER'S  GREAT  OPPORTUNITY 


PAGE 

9 

63 

97 

130 
179 
235 
279 


FIVE   HUNDRED    DOLLARS. 

I. 

/CAPTAIN  PHILO'S  sail-loft  was  a  pleasant 
^^  place  to  sit  in,  and  it  was  much  fre- 
quented. At  one  end  was  a  wide,  sliding  door, 
that  opened  on  the  water,  and  through  it  you 
saw  the  little  harbor  and  the  low,  glistening 
sand-bar  at  its  entrance,  and  whitecaps  in  the 
sea  beyond,  and  shining  sails.  At  the  other 
end  another  wide  door  led,  by  a  gently  descend- 
ing cleated  platform,  to  the  ground. 

It  was  a  pleasant  place  to  rest  and  refresh 
the  mind  in,  whether  you  chose  to  look  in  or 
out.  You  could  rock  in  the  hair-cloth  chair 
by  the  water  door,  and  join  in  conversation 
with  more  active  persons  mending  seines  upon 
the  wharf ;  or  you  could  dangle  your  heels 
from  the  work-bench,  and  listen  to  stories  and 


10  FIVE   HUNDRED   DOLLARS. 

debates  inside,  and  look  on  Captain  Philo  sew- 
ing upon  a  mainsail. 

It  was  a  summer  afternoon :  warm  under  the 
silver  poplars,  hot  in  the  store,  and  hotter  in 
the  open  street;  but  in  the  sail-loft  it  was  cool. 

"  More  than  once,"  Captain  Bennett  was  re- 
marking from  the  rocking-chair,  while  his  pru- 
nella shoes  went  up  and  down,  —  "  more  than 
once  I  Ve  wished  that  I  could  freight  this  loft 
to  Calcutta  on  speculation,  and  let  it  out,  so 
much  a  head,  for  so  long  a  time,  to  set  in  and 
cool  off." 

"  How  about  them  porious  water-jars  they  hev 
there?  "  asked  Uncle  Silas,  who  had  never  sailed 
beyond  Cape  Pogue  ;  "  how  do  they  work?  " 

"  Well,"  said  the  captain,  "  they  're  so-so. 
But  you  set  up  this  loft,  both  doors  slid  open, 
air  drawing  through  and  all,  right  on  Calcutta 
main  street,  or  what  they  call  the  Maiden's  Es- 
planade, and  fit  it  up  with  settees  like  a  confer- 
ence-meeting, and  advertise,  and  you  could  let 
out  chances  to  set  for  twenty  cents  an  hour." 

"  You  'd  hev  to  hev  a  man  to  take  tickets, 
to  the  door,"  said  Uncle  Silas,  who  had  been 
looking  for  an  easy  job  for  forty  years. 


FIVE   HUNDRED   DOLLARS.  II 

"That's   Si  all  over,"  said  Captain  Bennett, 

with  a  wink ;    "  that   berth   would   be  just  his 

size." 

"  Well,"    said    Uncle    Silas,    faintly    smiling, 

"'tis  no    use   rubbin'   the  fur  the  wrong  way; 

stroke    the    world    from    head    to   tail    is    my 

rule." 

"  Speaking  of  folks  being  easy,"  said  Captain 

Bennett,  "  it  seems   there  's  quite  a  little    story 

about  David  Prince's  voyage  on  the  '  Viola.' ' 
"  I  thought  he  went  off  whaling  rather  in  a 

hurry,"  said  Captain  Philo,  "  and  if  it  had  been 

'most    anybody   else,    I    should    have    thought 

there  was  something  up." 

"  It  seems,"  said  Captain  Bennett,  "  it  was 
like  this :  You  know,  Delia  was  n't  much  over 
ten  years  old  when  her  mother  died,  along  a 
piece  after  her  father,  and  she  come  to  live 
with  us.  And  you  know  how  she  was  almost 
like  one  of  the  family.  Well,  about  eight  years 
ago,  when  she  'd  got  to  be  towards  nineteen, 
it  was  then  that  David,  first  set  out  to  shine 
up  to  her ;  and  when  he  begun  to  come  home 
from  singing-school  with  her  that  winter,  and 
got  to  coming  to  the  house  quite  often  the 


12  FIVE   HUNDRED   DOLLARS. 

next  spring  along,  I  begun  to  feel  a  little  shaky. 
Finally,  one  Sunday  afternoon  I  was  sitting 
out  on  the  porch  and  she  was  singing  hymns 
inside, — you  know  she  was  always  singing, — 
and  I  called  to  her  to  quit  and  come  out,  and 
sit  down  alongside  of  me,  and  says  I,  — 

" (  Delia,  it  can't  be  you  're  thinking  of  taking 
up  with  David  Prince?  ' 

•"  Well,  she  flared  a  little,  but  finally  says  she: 

•"  '  Why  should  n't  I,  or  anybody  that  has  the 
chance,  take  David  Prince?  ' 

"  '  Well/  says  I, '  I  don't  think  you  need  to  ask 
why ;  I  should  say  that  a  smart  girl  would  n't 
want  more  than  to  travel  once  along  the  Lower 
Road  and  see  those  two  run-down  houses,  — 
one  deserted,  and  the  other,  handy  by,  about  as 
bad,  —  and  the  barn  across  the  road,  that  was 
raised  and  boarded  in  over  forty  years  ago, 
and  never  shingled,  and  stood  so  till  it 's  all 
rotted  and  sunk  in.' 

"'What's  that  got  to  do  with  David?'  says 
she. 

" '  It  's  got  this  to  do  with  David,'  says 
I,  '  that  his  father  and  his  Uncle  Ezekiel  and 
their  father  before  'em  —  good,  kindly  men  —  all 


FIVE   HUNDRED   DOLLARS.  13 

seemed  to  settle,  settle,  somehow ;  and  it  was 
all  to-morrow,  and  to-morrow,  with  'em;  '  and 
then  I  told  Delia  how  they  sold  off  their  wood 
and  then  their  land,  piecemeal,  all  but  the  spot 
where  the  old  buildings  stand,  —  and  that 's 
worth  nothing. 

"  '  And  that 's  the  way,'  says  I,  '  it  '11  be  with 
David  when  he  gets  over  being  a  boy  and 
settles  down;  it's  in  the  blood;  and  I  don't 
want  to  see  you,  Delia,  keel-hauled  there  — ' ' 

"  Like  David's  mother,  —  Prudence  Frost, 
that  was,"  said  Uncle  Silas ;  "  originally  she 
was  a  good,  smart  girl,  and  full  of  jingle ; 
but  finally  she  give  up  and  come  to  it,  —  lef 
sweepin'-clay  out  o'  the  almanic,  washed  dishes 
in  cold  water,  and  made  up  beds  at  bedtime; 
and  when  she  ironed  a  shirt,  jes'  's  like  's  not 
she  'd  iron  a  hoss-fly  right  into  the  bosom." 

"And  lived  a  dog's  life  generally,"  said  Cap- 
tain Bennett.  "  So  I  laid  the  whole  thing  out 
to  Delia,  the  best  way  I  knew  how. 

"  '  Well,'  says  she,  '  I  know  you  mean  my 
good,  Captain  Bennett,  —  but  I  shall  take  my 
chances.'  And  so  she  did.  Well  —  " 

"  Speakin'  o'  the  barn,"  said  Uncle  Silas,  "  do 


14  FIVE   HUNDRED   DOLLARS. 

you  remember  that  high  shay  that  David's 
father  hed?  I  was  up  to  the  Widow  Pope's 
vendue  the  day  he  bid  it  off.  He  managed 
to  spunk  up  so  fur 's  to  hitch  the  shaffs  under 
his  team  and  fetch  the  ve-hicle  home,  and  then 
he  hed  n't  no  place  to  put  it  up  out  o'  the 
weather,  —  and  so  he  druv  it  along  under  that 
big  Bald'n  apple-tree  that  used  to  stand  by 
the  pantry  window,  on  the  north  side  o'  the 
house,  and  left  it  there,  with  the  shaffs  clawin' 
down  in  the  ground.  Then  the  talk  was,  he 
was  goin'  to  build  him  a  sort  of  a  little  taber- 
nacle for  it  before  winter  set  in ;  and  he  hed 
down  a  load  of  lumber  from  Uncle  Joe's  mill 
and  hed  it  dumped  down  alongside  o'  the 
shay.  But  the  shay  was  n't  never  once  hitched 
up,  nor  the  tabernacle  built;  and  the  timber 
and  the  shay  jes'  set  there,  side  by  side,  seein' 
who  'd  speak  first,  for  twenty  year,  to  my  cer- 
ting  knowledge ;  and  you  go  by  there  when  it 
was  blowin'  fresh,  and  the  old  curtings  would 
be  flappin'  in  and  out,  black  and  white,  till 
finally  the  whole  arrangement  sunk  out  o'  sight. 
I  guess  there  's  more  or  less  wrack  there  now, 
'f  you  sh'd  go  poke  in  the  grass." 


FIVE  HUNDRED    DOLLARS.  15 

"  It  was  thirty-one  year  ago,  come  October, 
that  he  bought  the  shay,"  said  Captain  Philo ; 
"  it  was  the  fall  I  was  cast  away  on  the  Tomb- 
stones, and  lost  every  dollar  I  had.  I  remem- 
ber it  because  the  old  man  came  down  to  the 
house  of  his  own  accord,  when  I  got  home, 
and  let  me  have  two  hundred  dollars.  He  'd 
just  been  selling  the  West  New  Field;  and 
when  he  'd  sold  land  and  had  money  on  hand, 
it  was  anybody's  that  wanted  it.  But  what  was 
it  about  David's  going  off  so  sudden  on  the 
'  Viola'?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  forgot  my  errand,"  said  Captain 
Bennett ;  "  and  now  I  've  got  adrift  in  my  story, 
and  I  shall  have  to  take  an  observation ;  let 's 
see,  where  was  I?  " 

"  Delia  allowed  she  'd  take  her  chances,"  said 
Uncle  Silas. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Captain  Bennett.  "  Well, 
you  know  how  it  was  when  they  got  married : 
David  fixed  the  old  house  up  a  little,  and 
mother  put  in  some  furniture  and  things  for  her, 
and  all  went  on  first-rate  awhile ;  and  then  you 
know  how  David  begun  to  settle,  settle,  just  the 
old  way ;  could  n't  seem  to  keep  up  to  the  wind ; 


1 6  FIVE   HUNDRED   DOLLARS. 

appeared  to  carry  a  lee  hel-m,  somehow;  and 
Delia  begun  to  take  in  work  and  go  out  to 
work,  and  quit  singing.  She  never  said  a  word, 
even  to  my  wife ;  but  I  could  see  't  it  cut  her 
a  good  deal  — " 

"  But  all  this  time,"  said  Uncle  Silas,  "  she  's 
kep'  up  smart,  —  allers  hed  a  high  crower's- 
feather  'n  her  bunnet,  and  kep'  her  little  boys 
a-lookin'  like  nine-shillin'  dolls." 

"  I  should  n't  have  ever  called  David  lazy," 
said  Captain  Philo.  "He  couldn't  seem  to 
make  up  his  mind  what  to  do  next,  that  's 
all;  but  get  him  going —  you  remember  how 
he  worked  at  Jason's  fire;  and  I  know  of  my 
own  knowledge  he  was  in  the  surf  for  sixteen 
hours,  when  that  Norwegian  bark  was  on  the 
Bar." 

"  I  think  there  's  some  folks,"  said  Uncle 
Silas,  "  that  their  mind  works  all  the  time  — 
runs  a  day  gang  and  runs  a  night  gang.  You 
know  how  a  hard  sum  '11  shake  itself  out  in 
your  head  overnight;  and  I  think  it's  the  most 
natural  thing  that  a  man  with  a  A  No.  I  active 
mind  always  should  feel  sort  of  tired  and  not 
know  what  ails  him.  George,  won't  you  jes' 


FIVE   HUNDRED   DOLLARS.  I/ 

git  up  and  hand  me  that  pipe  —  you  ain't  doin' 
nothin'." 

"  However  it  was,"  said  Captain  Bennett, 
"  Delia  saw  that  he  was  drifting  to  leeward,  and 
she  was  worried.  Well,  you  know  when  the 
reformation  set  in,  that  winter,  and  run  crowded 
houses,  —  one  night  in  the  West  Church  and 
the  next  in  the  other.  One  night  David  sur- 
prised his  wife  by  going ;  and  he  set  in  a  back 
seat,  and  come  away  and  said  nothing;  and  the 
same  the  next  night ;  and  the  same  for  seven  or 
eight  nights  right  along.  Finally,  one  night, 
they  had  a  pretty  searching  sermon,  — '  Choose 
ye  this  day,'  et  cetera,  —  and  I  suppose  the 
Deacon,  here,  was  rather  expecting  David  to 
rise  for  prayers ;  but,  instead  of  that,  as  soon  as 
Amen  was  said,  he  gets  right  up,  and  off  he 
goes,  and  leaves  Delia  there,  without  saying  a 
word  to  her  or  to  anybody,  and  goes  right  up 
to  Captain  Westcott's  house  and  agrees  to  ship. 
And  glad  enough  Captain  W.  was  to  have  him, 
and  next  day  off  he  went.  Now  here  he  is,  gone 
two  years  and  over,  and  comes  home  night 
before  last ;  his  lay  '11  figure  out  five  hundred 
dollars ;  and  the  biggest  thing  is  "  —  here  the 
2 


1 8  FIVE   HUNDRED   DOLLARS. 

Captain  brought  down  his  heavy  hand,  for  em- 
phasis, on  Uncle  Silas's  knee  —  "  that  Delia  's 
kept  herself  and  the  children,  and  never  drawn 
one  cent  against  the  voyage ;  so  they  Ve  got 
the  whole  clear,  and  they  Ve  been  up  this  morn- 
ing early  and  traded  for  the  Callender  place,  and 
they  're  going  to  move  in  to-morrow.  And  I 
guess  he  means  business  now." 

"But  they  don't  git  paid  off  till  Monday," 
said  Uncle  Silas.  "  They  're  all  goin'  up  to  town 
to  be  paid  off  then." 

"  Well,  he  moves  in  to-morrow,  anyway,"  said 
Captain  Bennett.  "  Monday  night,  I  believe,  he's 
going  to  pay  down  what  he  has,  and  take  a  deed, 
and  give  a  mortgage  back  for  the  balance." 

But  Uncle  Silas  gravely  shook  his  head. 

"  I  can't  indorse  this  runnin'  in  haste,"  he 
said.  "  I  never,  in  all  my  experience,  knew  a 
man  before  to  buy  real  estate  without  sort  of 
goin'  up  street  and  talkin'  it  over,  and  comparin' 
notes  'round  generally.  Now,  we  could  have 
given  him  points  down  here  about  the  Callender 
place." 

"Oh,  he's  made  a  good  trade  there,"  said 
Captain  Bennett. 


FIVE   HUNDRED   DOLLARS.  19 

"  That  all  may  be,"  said  Uncle  Silas,  "  but  it's 
the  principle,  not  the  five  cents,  I  'm  lookin'  at. 
I  should  have  hed  more  faith  in  his  holdin'  out 
if  he  hed  n't  jumped  quite  so  quick.  '  Slow 
bind,  fast  find,'  I  say." 

Captain  Bennett  rose,  and  drew  on  a  grass- 
cloth  coat  that  showed  his  suspenders  through. 

"  I  must  be  on  my  winding  way,"  he  said. 
"  But  did  you  hear  how  close  he  came  to  never 
coming  back?  No?  Well,  it  was  like  this:  It 
was  blowing  a  gale,  and  considerable  sea  on,  one 
night  when  they  were  rounding  Cape  Horn  on 
the  home  voyage,  and  she  was  pitching  pretty 
bad,  and  David  was  out  on  the  jib-boom  taking 
in  jib,  and  somehow  she  pitched  with  a  jerk,  so 
he  lost  his  hold  and  went  off,  and,  as  he  fell  in 
the-  dark,  naturally  he  struck  out  both  hands, 
blind,  like  this ;  and  he  just  happened  to  catch, 
by  sheer  accident,  a  gasket  that  was  hanging 
from  the  jib-boom,  and  so  he  saved  himself  by 
a  hair's  breadth.  And  when  he  came  up  they 
thought  it  was  his  ghost." 

"  Well,  I  always  make  it  a  point  to  look  on 
the  bright  side,  without  exception,"  said  Uncle 
Silas ;  "  nevertheless,  I  prophesy  it  won't  be  two 


2O  FIVE   HUNDRED   DOLLARS. 

years  before  he  '11  have  the  place  all  eat  up,  and 
sold  out  under  the  mortgage.  This  jumpin'  so 
quick,  —  looks  as  if  he  was  sca't  to  trust  himself 
for  a  day." 

"  Well,  we  shall  see,"  said  Captain  Bennett ; 
''time  will  tell." 

There  are  many  little  farms  along  the  New 
England  sea-board,  which  the  currents  of  life, 
diverted  from  ancient  channels,  have  left  one 
side,  pleasant  and  homelike  often,  but  of  small 
money  value.  The  Callender  place  was  such 
a  farm. 

It  lay  a  mile  from  the  village,  in  a  hamlet  of 
half-a-dozen  dwellings.  There  was  a  substantial 
house,  with  four  large  rooms  below,  besides  an  L 
kitchen,  and  above,  two  sunny  chambers,  each 
with  a  dormer  and  a  gable  window.  From  the 
front  fence  projected,  for  a  hitching-post,  a 
Minerva,  carved  from  wood,  —  a  figure-head 
washed  up  years  before  from  the  wreck  of  a 
brig  with  the  bodies  of  the  crew. 

The  house  was  on  a  little  elevation,  and  looked 
across  the  road,  near  which  it  stood,  and  over  a 
sloping  field  or  two,  to  sea.  From  the  windows 


FIVE  HUNDRED   DOLLARS.  21 

you  could  count  the  sail  in  the  North  Channel, 
and  look  down  the  coast  and  follow  with  the  eye 
the  long,  low  curving  line  of  shore  until  at 
Indian  Point  it  vanished ;  or  look  up  shore  ten 
miles  to  where  the  coast-line  ended  in  a  bold, 
wooded  headland,  which  seemed,  by  a  perpetual 
mirage,  to  bear  foliage  so  lofty  as  to  show  day- 
light through  beneath  the  branches.  At  night 
you  could  see  the  flash  of  the  revolving  light  on 
Windmill  Rock,  and  the  constant  rays  from  the 
lightship  on  the  Rips.  So  that  by  day  or  night 
you  could  never  be  lonesome,  unless,  perhaps, 
on  some  thick  night,  when  you  could  see  no 
light,  and  could  only  hear  a  grating  knell  from 
the  bell-buoy,  and  could  seem  to  see,  through 
the  white  darkness,  the  waters  washing  over  its 
swaying  barrel. 

There  was  a  good-sized  boarded  barn,  well 
shingled  on  the  roof,  with  hay-mows,  and  with 
room  for  two  or  three  cows  and  a  horse  and  a 
wagon,  and  with  wide  doors  "  fore  and  aft,"  as 
the  neighbors  put  it ;  through  its  big  front  door 
you  could  look  out  to  sea.  Then  there  were 
twenty  acres  of  land,  including  a  wood-lot  which 
could  be  thinned  out  every  year  to  give  one  all 


22  FIVE   HUNDRED   DOLLARS. 

his  fire-wood,  and  what  was  cut  would  hardly 
be  missed. 

Such  was  the  place  which,  on  the  death  of 
the  Widow  Callender,  had  been  offered  for  sale 
for  eight  hundred  dollars.  For  months  it  had 
stood  empty,  stormed  by  all  the  sea-winds,  lit 
up  by  the  sun,  when  at  last  an  unexpected  buyer 
had  turned  up  in  David  Prince. 

It  was  a  happy  Sunday  that  he  passed  with 
his  little  family  at  the  new  home.  They  went 
all  over  the  house  again  and  again,  and  looked 
from  every  window,  and  planned  where  flower- 
frames  should  be  put,  to  take  the  sun.  Then, 
going  out  of  doors,  they  inspected  the  revolving 
clothes-dryer,  which  David,  with  a  seaman's  in- 
stinct, had  already  rigged  with  four  little  sloops 
to  sail  about  on  the  ends  of  the  projecting  arms, 
on  Mondays,  tacking  after  shirts  and  stockings. 
Then  they  went  to  the  barn,  and  David  showed 
how  he  was  going  to  cover  the  sides  with  spruce 
shingles,  so  that  he  could  have  a  warm  place  to 
work  in  in  the  winter.  Then  they  went  over  the 
fields,  and  planned  a  garden  for  the  next  spring; 
and  then  they  went  down  to  the  shore,  and, 


FIVE  HUNDRED   DOLLARS.  23 

where  a  little  arm  of  the  sea  made  in,  David 
showed  where  he  would  haul  up  his  dory,  and 
would  keep  his  boat,  when  he  could  afford  to  get 
one  together:  in  the  mean  time  he  was  going 
to  fish  on  shares  with  Jacob  Foster,  who  lived 
a  few  rods  up  the  road.  Then  they  all  strolled 
back  to  the  house,  and  dined  on  shore-birds  shot 
on  Saturday  afternoon,  and  new  potatoes  and 
turnips  which  Jacob  Foster  had  brought  in. 

After  dinner,  they  all  sat. at  the  front  windows, 
in  the  room  which  they  were  pleased  to  call  the 
parlor,  David  holding  on  his  knees  the  two  old- 
est boys,  delighted  with  the  recovery  of  such  a 
Sindbad  of  a  father,  while  the  third,  still  a  little 
shy  of  him,  stood  by  his  mother.  David  told  of 
the  voyage,  repeating,  by  request,  full  half-a- 
dozen  times,  the  story  of  the  night  when  he  was 
snapped  off  the  end  of  the  jib-boom  ;  to  do  which 
he  had  to  set  the  boys  down  and  stand,  to  make 
the  swift,  sudden  clutch,  with  his  eyes  shut,  at 
the  towing  rope;  at  which  the  boys  screamed 
on  every  repetition. 

After  supper,  David  and  his  wife,  leaving  the 
children  with  orders  to  go  to  bed  at  the  first 
flash  from  the  Windmill,  went  to  church. 


24  FIVE  HUNDRED   DOLLARS. 

They  took  the  same  back  seat  which  they  had 
the  night  that  David  shipped.  There  was  much 
the  same  scene  before  them.  There  was  bald- 
headed  Deacon  Luce,  in  his  usual  Damocles'  seat 
exactly  beneath  the  dangling  chandelier,  which 
children  watched  in  morbid  hope  of  a  horror; 
there  was  the  president  of  the  Dorcas  Society,  a 
gray-haired  woman  who  had  navigated  home  a 
full-rigged  ship  from  the  Gold  Coast ;  there  were 
grave-faced  men  who,  among  them,  could  have 
charted  half  the  globe.  In  the  pulpit  was  the 
same  old-fashioned,  bookish  man,  who,  having 
led  his  college  class,  had  passed  his  life  in  this 
unknown  parish,  lost  in  delight,  in  his  study,  in 
the  great  Athenian's  handling  of  the  presump- 
tuous Glaucon,  or  simply  unfolding  parables  in 
his  pulpit. 

That  former  night  came  vividly  back  to  Delia 
Prince.  Through  the  opening  hymn,  in  which 
she  did  not  join ;  through  the  story  of  the  feast 
in  Simon's  house,  she  was  thinking  of  the  time 
when  David  told  her  he  had  shipped,  and  she 
had  made  up  her  mind  to  save  a  home. 

But  in  the  second  hymn  she  joined;  and  in 
her  joy  she  forgot  herself  and  sang,  —  as  she  had 


FIVE  HUNDRED   DOLLARS.  25 

been  used  to  sing  when  she  was  the  leader  of  all 
the  singing.  In  a  moment  they  all  knew  that 
she  was  there. 

"  Thus  far  the  Lord  hath  led  me  on ; 
Thus  far  His  power  prolongs  my  days; 
And  every  evening  shall  make  known 
Some  fresh  memorial  of  His  grace." 


II. 

"  M.  ISAACS"  was  over  the  door;  Mr.  Isaacs 
was  within.  Without,  three  golden  balls  were 
hanging,  like  apples  of  the  Hesperides;  within 
was  an  array  of  goods  which  the  three  balls 
had  brought  in. 

Mr.  Isaacs  was  walking  to  and  fro  behind  the 
counter,  and  briskly  rubbing  his  hands. 

"  My  good  wife  Sarah,"  he  said,  with  a  strong 
Semitic  accent,  "  those  sudden,  raw  east  winds  ! 
I  am  so  frozen  as  if  I  was  enjoying  myself  upon 
the  skating-rink,  —  and  here  it  is  the  summer. 
Where  is  that  long  spring  overcoat  that  German 
man  hypotecated  with  us  last  evening  ?  Between 
the  saddle  and  the  gold-lace  uniform,  you  say?  " 

And   taking  it   down,    by  means  of  a  long, 


26  FIVE  HUNDRED   DOLLARS. 

hooked  pole,  he  put  it  on.  It  covered  his  ears 
and  swept  the  ground :  "  It  make  me  look  like 
Aaron  in  those  pictures,"  he  said. 

It  would  have  been  a  grasping  disposition  that 
could  not  be  suited  with  something  from  out 
Mr.  Isaacs's  stock.  It  would  have  been  hard 
to  name  a  faculty  of  the  human  soul  or  a  mem- 
ber of  the  human  body  to  which  it  could  not 
lend  aid  and  comfort.  One  musically  inclined 
could  draw  the  wailing  bow  or  sway  the  ac- 
cordion; pucker  at  the  pensive  flute,  or  beat 
the  martial,  soul-arousing  drum.  One  stripped, 
as  it  were,  on  his  way  to  Jericho,  could  slink  in 
here  and  select  for  himself  a  fig-leaf  from  a 
whole  Eden  of  cut-away  coats  and  wide-check- 
ered trousers,  all  fitting  "to  surprise  yourself," 
and  could  be  quite  sure  of  finding  a  pair  of 
boots,  of  whatever  size  was  needed,  of  the  very 
finest  custom  hand  work,  —  a  misfit,  made  for  a 
gentleman  in  New  York.  A  devout  man,  accord- 
ing to  his  leanings,  could  pray  from  the  prayer- 
book  of  an  impoverished  Episcopalian,  or  sing 
from  the  hymn-book  of  an  insolvent  Baptist. 

"  So  help  me  gracious !  "  Mr.  Isaacs  used  to 
say,  raising  his  shoulders  and  opening  wide  his 


FIVE   HUNDRED   DOLLARS.  27 

palms ;  "  when  you  find  a  man  so  ungrateful  that 
he  cannot  be  fitted  out  with  somethings  from  my 
stock,  I  really  suppose  you  could  not  fit  that 
man  out  in  Paradise." 

Mr.  Isaacs  was  looking  nervous.  But  it  was 
not  by  the  images  which  his  ordinary  stock  in 
trade  would  naturally  cause  to  arise  that  he  was 
disturbed,  —  images  though  they  were  of  folly, 
improvidence,  and  distress.  There  was  indeed 
hardly  an  article  in  the  shop,  except  the  new 
plated  jewelry  in  the  window,  that  was  not 
suggestive  of  misery  or  of  sin.  But  in  Mr. 
Isaacs's  well-poised  mind  no  morbid  fancies  arose. 
"Those  hard  winters  makes  me  cheerful,"  he 
was  wont  to  say  in  the  fall ;  "  they  makes  the 
business  lifely." 

Still,  Mr.  Isaacs  was  a  little  troubled  this 
afternoon,  and,  singularly  enough,  about  a  most 
happy  purchase  that  he  had  just  made,  at  ninety 
per  cent  below  value.  There  the  articles  lay 
upon  the  counter,  —  a  silk  hat,  a  long  surtout, 
a  gold-headed  cane  and  a  pair  of  large  rubbers ; 
a  young  man's  Derby  hat  and  overcoat  and 
rattan  cane,  and  a  pair  of  arctics ;  a  lady's  bon- 
net and  dolman  and  arctics ;  a  young  girl's  hat 


28  FIVE  HUNDRED  DOLLARS. 

with  a  soft  bird's-breast,  and  her  seal-skin  sack 
and  arctics ;  besides  four  small  boys'  hats  and 
coats  and  arctics.  It  seemed  as  if  some  modern 
Elijah,  a  family  man,  expectant  of  translation, 
had  made  with  thrifty  forethought  an  "  arrange- 
ment "  that  Mr.  Isaacs's  shop  should  be  the  point 
of  departure,  and  flying  off  in  joyous  haste, 
with  wife  and  children,  had  left  the  general 
raiment  on  the  counter.  You  would  naturally 
have  looked  for  a  sky-lit  hole  in  the  ceiling. 

"  So  help  me  gracious !  "  said  Mr.  Isaacs, 
turning  the  articles  over;  "I  suppose  there's 
some  policemen  just  so  wicked  and  soospicious 
to  say  I  must  know  those  garments  are  stolen 
—  scooped  off  some  hat-tree,  the  last  winter,  at 
one  grab." 

"Why  do  you  enter  dose  on  de  book  to- 
gedder?"  said  Mrs.  Isaacs.  "  If  you  put  dose 
separate  on  de  book,  how  de  policeman  know 
dey  came  in  togedder?" 

"That  is  a  great  danger,  Sarah.  That's  just 
the  way  they  fix  our  good  friend  Greenbaum. 
When  they  caught  the  thief,  and  he  tell  them 
where  he  sell  some  things,  and  Greenbaum 
had  put  down  those  earrings  and  those  brace- 


FIVE   HUNDRED   DOLLARS.  29 

lets  and  that  Balmoral  skirt  for  three  different 
times,  they  say  he  must  know  those  things  was 
stolen,  —  if  not,  why  did  he  put  those  things 
down  different  from  each  other? 

"  But  so  help  me  gracious  !  "  he  added,  pres- 
ently, "  I  have  not  the  least  soospicions,  like 
the  babes  unborn,  those  goods  are  stolen.  The 
man  that  brought  them  in  was  very  frank,  and 
very  much  of  a  gentleman;  and  he  lay  his 
hand  upon  his  bosom-pin,  and  swear  he  sell 
those  things  because  he  has  no  more  use  for 
them,  —  his  family  all  sick  of  tyvoid  fever, 
and  cannot  live  the  week  out.  But  I  suppose 
there  's  some  policemen  just  so  soospicious  to 
say  I  must  know  those  things  are  stolen." 

"  And  so  cruel  soospicions,"  said  Mrs.  Isaacs, 
—  "  and  your  heart  so  pure  and  white  like  your 
shirt-bosom."  She  meant  his  ideal  shirt-bosom. 

"Just  like  those  evil-minded  policemen," 
he  said.  "  You  remember  how  they  lock  up 
our  old  friend  Abrahamson?  So  help  me 
gracious !  sent  that  good  old  man  to  prison, 
just  because  he  buy  two  gold  watches  and 
two  pairs  of  gold  spectacles  and  an  ivory- 
handled  knife  and  two  empty  pocket-books  and 


30  FIVE   HUNDRED   DOLLARS. 

two  silk  umbrellas  and  a  seal  ring  and  two 
bunches  of  keys  and  two  black  wigs  from  a 
red-headed  laboring  man;  they  say  he  must 
know  that  two  old  gentlemen  were  robbed  of 
that  personal  property." 

But  here  his  attention  was  diverted  by  the 
sight  of  two  men,  seamen  to  appearance,  who 
were  looking  into  the  show-window. 

"  I  like  so  much,"  he  said,  "  to  see  the  pub- 
lic enjoying  themselves  in  my  window ;  it  give 
them  so  happy  pleasure  to  see  those  lovely 
things ;  and  often  they  comes  in  and  buy  some- 
things. This  young  man,"  he  added,  after  a 
pause,  "seem  to  admire  those  broad  neck-wear; 
he  look  at  both  those  two,  —  the  Four-in-hand 
and  the  Frolic." 

"  I  think  he  look  most  at  de  Frolic,  "said  Mrs. 
Isaacs;  "I  think  he  would  come  in  if  you  go 
outside  and  take  him  by  de  arm  like  a  true 
frient,  and  bring  him  in.  My  broder  Moses 
walk  outside  de  whole  day  long,  and  take  each 
man  when  he  go  by  and  talk  to  him  like  his 
own  broder,  wid  tears  in  his  eyes,  and  make 
dem  come  in  and  buy  somedings." 

But  Mr.  Isaacs  only  wrapped  the  long  coat 


FIVE  HUNDRED   DOLLARS.  31 

more  closely  about  his  linen  garments,  and 
watched  the  younger  man  as  he  turned  his  eyes 
away  from  the  Four-in-hand  and  the  Frolic 
and  bent  them  on  the  trays  in  which  were 
glittering  tiers  of  rings  and  pins,  and  rows  of 
watches  labelled  "Warrented  genuine,  $14;" 
"  Dirt-cheap,  $8.75  ;  "  "  Doct's  Watch,  Puls- 
counting,  $19.50." 

"  He  look  like  he  had  some  money,"  said 
Mrs.  Isaacs.  "  Perhaps  he  would  come  in  and 
buy  a  watch  if  you  go  out  and  pull  him  in. 
How  can  he  buy  someding  through  de  glass? 
My  broder  Moses  say,  '  So  many  folks  is 
bashful.' " 

But  at  last  the  men,  after  talking  awhile,  ap- 
parently of  the  goods  in  the  window,  came  in. 

"What's  the  price  of  some  of  those  ear-rings 
in  the  window?"  said  the  younger.  "Let's 
see  what  you've  got  for  a  couple  of  dollars 
or  so." 

"  So  help  me  gracious  !  "  said  Mr.  Isaacs,  as  he 
took  from  the  show-window  three  or  four  cards 
of  plated  ear-rings.  "  I  knew  you  would  come 
in  to  buy  somethings.  When  I  saw  you  look  in 
—  the  very  first  moment  —  I  say  to  my  wife, 


32  FIVE  HUNDRED  DOLLARS. 

*  There  is  a  good  young  man  that  will  give  a 
present  to  some  lovely  young  lady.'  Yes,  sir, 
the  very  words  I  said  to  Sarah." 

"What's  the  price  of  this  pair?  I  haven't 
got  any  girl  to  treat,  but  I  've  just  got  paid  off 
for  a  whaling  voyage,  and  my  lay  figured  up  a 
twenty-dollar  bill  above  what  I  expected,  and 
I  don't  care  if  I  do  lay  out  a  couple  of  dollars 
on  my  wife  besides  what  I  Ve  brought  home 
for  her." 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Isaacs,  "the  good  wife 
is  the  very  best  jewelry.  Those  are  two  dollars. 
But  only  study  this  pair.  Hold  those  up  to  the 
light  and  take  a  bird's-eye  view  through  those 
lovely  stones,  so  round  and  large  like  green 
peas.  Now  look.  So !  Now  let  your  friend 
look !  " 

"  I  'm  no  judge,"  said  the  other  man,  "  I 
know  what  pleases  me  —  that 's  all.  But  them 
would  make  a  great  display,  David,  wouldn't 
they?" 

"  You  're  right,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Isaacs.  " '  Dis- 
play' is  the  very  word.  My  wife  wear  just  the 
twins  of  this  pair  to  the  congregation,  every 
week." 


FIVE  HUNDRED   DOLLARS.  33 

Mrs.  Isaacs  raised  her  eyebrows:  she  wore 
nothing  but  diamonds. 

"What's  the  price  of  these  green  ones?" 
asked  David. 

Mr.  Isaacs  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  suppose  those  are  the  finest  articles  of 
the  kind  in  the  whole  creation,"  he  said.  "  We 
can  let  you  have  those  to-day,"  and  he  lowered 
his  voice  to  a  whisper,  and  put  his  hand  up 
beside  his  mouth,  "  to  close  out  stock  —  for  six 
dollars.  They  cost  us  only  last  week  eight-fifty, 
but  we  are  obliged  to  reduce  stock  prior  to 
removal.  The  building  is  to  be  taken  down." 

"  I  would  like  those  tip-top ;  but  I  don't 
know  —  it's  a  good  deal  of  money  for  gew- 
gaws; my  wife  would  take  me  to  do  for  it; 
I  guess  I  must  keep  to  the  two-dollar  ones.  I 
come  pretty  hard  by  my  dollars,  and  a  dollar 
means  a  good  deal  to  me  just  now." 

"  But  just  once  look  again,"  said  Mr.  Isaacs, 
and  he  stepped  briskly  behind  his  wife  and  held 
up  an  ear-ring  to  each  of  her  ears.  "  See  them 
on  a  chaste  and  lovely  form.  With  these  your 
wife  will  be  still  more  lovely.  All  those  other 
men  will  say,  '  Where  did  that  graceful  lady 


34  FIVE   HUNDRED   DOLLARS. 

find  so  rich  ear-rings  ? '  You  will  see  they  are 
a  great  success :  her  most  bosom  friends  will 
hate  her;  they  will  turn  so  green  like  the  grass 
on  the  ground  with  envy.  It  is  a  great  pleasure 
when  my  wife  wears  those  kind :  her  very  sisters 
cannot  speak  for  anger,  and  her  own  mother 
looks  so  rigid  like  the  Cardiff  Giant." 

"Well,  I  guess  I  shall  have  to  take  them," 
said  David,  "  and  you  '11  have  to  wrap  them 
right  up :  we  have  n't  got  more  than  about 
time  to  get  the  train,  have  we,  Calvin  ? " 

"  So  help  me  gracious !  "  said  Mr.  Isaacs, 
"  is  there  no  time  to  sell  our  friend  Calvin 
a  pair?  He  will  repent  not  to  secure  those 
other  pair,  until  his  dying  day;  so  sorry  like 
he  lose  his  ship  some  day  upon  those  rocks. 
I  suppose  there  is  no  others  like  those  in  the 
whole  creation." 

But  he  wrapped  the  purchase  up  in  a  bit  of 
white  paper  and  gave  David  Prince  four  trade 
dollars  in  change  for  a  ten-dollar  bill,  and  the 
two  men  went  out,  leaving  Mr.  Isaacs  free 
to  attend  to  a  timid  woman  in  black  who 
had  just  come  in  to  raise  fifty  cents  upon 
a  ring,  while  Mrs.  Isaacs  looked  after  a  car- 


FIVE   HUNDRED   DOLLARS.  35 

penter  who  proposed  to   pawn   his  edge-tools 
for  rent-money. 

Mr.  Isaacs  waved  his  hand  and  smiled  as 
the  men  went  out  of  the  door.  "  You  will  find 
they  are  a  success,  to  surprise  yourself,"  he 
called  out:  "her  most  bosom  friends  will 
writhe  and  scream  with  envy." 

The  winding  line  of  the  long  New  England 
coast  faces  the  sea,  in  its  sweeping  curves,  in 
every  direction.  From  the  Callender  place, 
the  ocean  lay  to  the  south.  Though  elsewhere 
east  winds  might  be  blowing  harsh  upon  the 
coast,  here,  almost  every  day,  and  all  day 
long,  in  summer,  the  southwest  wind  came 
pouring  in  from  the  expanse  of  waters,  fresh 
and  cool,  boisterous  often,  but  never  chill; 
and  even  winds  from  the  east  lost  edge  in 
crossing  miles  of  pitch-pine  woods,  of  planted 
fields,  of  sandy  ponds,  of  pastures,  and  came 
in  softened  down  and  friendly. 

A  gentle  breeze  was  drifting  in  from  sea. 
All  day  long  it  had  been  blowing,  salt  and 
strong  and  riotous,  tossing  the  pine-tops,  bend- 
ing the  corn,  swaying  the  trees  in  the  orchards, 


36  FIVE   HUNDRED   DOLLARS. 

but  now  it  was  preparing  to  die  away,  as  was 
its  wont,  at  sundown,  to  give  to  the  woods,  the 
cornfields  and  the  orchards  a  little  space  of 
rest  and  peace  before  it  should  rise  again  in 
the  early  evening  to  toss  them  all  night  long. 
The  blue  of  the  sky  was  blue  in  the  water. 
Every  object  stood  out  sharp  and  clear.  Down 
the  low,  curving  shore-line,  curls  of  smoke  rose 
from  distant  roofs,  and  on  the  headland,  up  the 
coast,  the  fairy  forest  in  the  air  was  outlined 
with  precision.  Distant  ships  were  moving,  like 
still  pictures,  on  the  horizon,  as  if  that  spell 
were  laid  on  them  which  hushed  the  enchanted 
palace.  There  was  just  sea  enough  to  roll  the 
bell-buoy  gently,  and  now  and  then  was  rung 
an  idle  note  of  warning.  Three  fishing-boats 
lay  anchored  off  the  Spindle,  rising  and  falling, 
and  every  now  and  then  a  sea  broke  on  the 
rock.  On  the  white  sand  beach,  waves  were 
rolling  in,  dying  softly  away  along  the  shore, 
or  heavily  breaking,  with  a  long,  flying  line 
of  foam. 

The  sun  was  fast  descending.  Delia  Prince 
went  out  to  the  corner  of  the  house  and  shaded 
her  eyes  to  look  at  the  sunset.  The  white 


FIVE  HUNDRED   DOLLARS.  37 

clouds  turned  to  a  flaming  red,  and  the  reflec- 
tion dyed  to  crimson  the  surface  of  the  creeks ; 
the  sun  descended  toward  the  wooded  bluff  that 
flanked  the  bay,  sent  a  thousand  shattered,  daz- 
zling rays  through  the  trees,  and  disappeared. 

The  red  of  the  clouds  and  the  red  of  the 
water  gave  place  to  gray.  The  wind  died  down. 
The  silence  was  intense,  —  all  the  more  marked 
because  of  the  few  sharp  sounds  that  broke  it 
now  and  then.  Across  the  bay,  near  shore, 
a  man  was  raking  oysters ;  he  stood  in  the 
stern  of  his  skiff,  and  the  bow  was  up  in  the 
air.  Near  by  a  girl  was  driving  sluggish  cows 
along  the  beach,  and  her  shrill  cries  came  over 
the  water;  by  a  cottage  on  the  bank  a  boy 
was  chopping  brush  upon  a  block,  and  Delia 
watched  the  silent  blows,  and  heard  the  sound 
come  after.  He  smiled  as  she  looked;  for 
every  night  she  saw  the  boy's  mother  stand 
at  the  door  to  call  him,  and  saw  him  come 
reluctant  to  his  task. 

There  was  a  sense  of  friendly  companion- 
ship in  all  these  homely  sights  and  sounds. 
It  was  different  from  the  old  house,  shut  in  close 
by  a  second  growth  of  birch  and  oak. 


38  FIVE  HUNDRED   DOLLARS. 

The  table  was  standing  ready  for  a  late  sup- 
per. The  children  had  gone  for  berries  to  the 
Island,  and  they  would  soon  come  home,  and 
David  was  due,  too,  with  his  money. 

She  smiled  as  he  appeared.  The  ascent  to 
the  brow  of  the  hill  was  so  sharp  that  first 
you  saw  a  hat  in  movement,  then  a  head, 
then  shoulders,  body,  legs,  and  feet.  She  ran 
quickly  down  the  road  to  meet  him,  and  took 
his  arm. 

"You  couldn't  catch  the  noon  train?"  she 
said.  "  Captain  Wells  stopped  at  the  door  a 
little  while  ago  to  see  what  time  we  should 
be  down  to  get  the  deed,  and  luckily  I  told 
him  that  we  might  not  be  down  until  into  the 
evening.  He  said  he  'd  stay  at  home  and  wait 
till  we  came." 

"Delia,"  said  David,  when  he  had  seated 
himself  in  the  house,  "  I  've  got  bad  news  to 
tell  you,  and  I  may  as  well  out  with  it  first  as 
last." 

"  You  have  n't  shipped  for  another  whaling 
voyage? " 

"No;  that  would  be  nothing,"  he  said. 

Delia  stood  and  looked  at  him. 


FIVE  HUNDRED  DOLLARS.  39 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  did  n't  you  get  as  much 
as  you  counted  on?" 

"  Yes,  —  twenty  more." 

"It  isn't  anything  about  the  children?  I 
expect  them  home  every  minute." 

"No." 

"  Delia,"  he  said,  "  you  was  a  great  fool  ever 
to  have  me.  You  ought  to  have  taken  advice." 

"What  is  the  matter?"  she  said.  "Why 
don't  you  tell  me?" 

"  I  Ve  lost  the  money,"  he  said.  "  The  Cap- 
tain warned  me  how  apt  a  seafaring  man  is 
to  lose  money ;  but  I  did  n't  take  any  heed, 
and  I  went  off  with  Calvin  Green  — " 

"  With  Calvin  Green !  What  did  I  tell  you  !  " 
she  said. 

"Wait  a  minute —  and  I  stopped  into  a  jew- 
elry store  and  bought  you  a  pair  of  ear-rings, 
and  I  came  off  and  left  my  wallet  on  the 
counter,  the  way  that  fool  Joe  Bassett  did,  to 
Gloucester.  When  I  went  back,  the  rascal 
claimed  he  never  saw  me  before  —  said  he 
did  n't  know  me  from  the  Prophet  Samuel,  as 
if  I  was  born  that  minute.  And  now  they'll 
all  say  —  and  it 's  true  —  that  I  'm  a  chip  of 


4O  FIVE   HUNDRED   DOLLARS. 

the  old  block,  and  that  I  'm  bound  to  come 
out  at  the  little  end.  There !  "  he  said,  as  he 
opened  a  little  parcel  and  took  out  the  ear- 
rings. "  There 's  what 's  left  of  five  hundred 
and  twenty  dollars,  and  you  must  make  the 
most  of  'em.  Hold  'em  up  to  the  light  and 
see  how  handsome  they  are.  I  don't  know, 
after  all,  but  they  are  worth  while  for  a  man 
to  pitch  overboard  off  Cape  Horn  and  har- 
poon whales  two  years  for.  All  is,  just  tell 
folks  they  cost  five  hundred  dollars,  and  they  '11 
be  just  as  good  as  hen's-egg  diamonds. 

"  In  fact,  I  don't  know  but  I  sort  o'  like 
the  situation,"  he  went  on,  in  a  moment.  "  It 
seems  sort  of  natural  and  home-like.  I  should 
have  felt  homesick  if  I  'd  really  succeeded  in 
getting  this  place  paid  for.  'T  would  have 
seemed  like  getting  proud,  and  going  back  on 
my  own  relations.  And  then  it  '11  please  every- 
body to  say,  '  I  told  you  so.'  There  '11  be  high 
sport  round  town,  when  it  gets  out,  and  we  back 
water  down  to  the  old  place. 

"  Come,  say  something,  Delia !  "  he  said,  in 
a  moment.  "Why  don't  you  say  something 
about  it?  Don't  you  care  that  the  money's 


FIVE  HUNDRED  DOLLARS.  41 

lost,  that  you  stand  there  and  don't  say  a  word, 
and  look  at  nothing?  " 

"  I  don't  want  to  say  anything  now,"  she  said, 
"  I  want  to  think." 

"  Well !  "  said  Captain  Bennett,  the  next  day, 
to  his  wife,  "  Delia 's  got  more  spunk  !  I  should 
have  felt  like  laying  right  down  in  the  shafts,  in 
her  place;  but  instead  of  that,  to  actually  go 
and  talk  them  into  letting  her  keep  the  Cal- 
lender  place  and  pay  for  it  so  much  a  month ! 
And  David  's  signed  a  paper  to  do  it." 

"  I  guess  if  the  truth  was  known,"  said  Mrs. 
Bennett,  knitting  on,  "  that,  come  to  think  it 
over,  she  was  more  scared  of  David  's  settling 
back  than  she  was  for  losing  the  money." 

"  She 's  got  a  pull  on  him  now,"  said  the 
Captain,  "  anyway,  for  if  he  once  agrees  to  a 
thing  he  always  does  it." 


III. 

No  one  fully  knows  the  New  England  au- 
tumn who  has  not  seen  its  colors  on  the 
extreme  Old  Colony  sea-board.  There  are  no 


42  FIVE  HUNDRED   DOLLARS. 

mountain  ranges,  opening  out  far  reaches  of 
burning  maples;  but  there  are  miles  of  salt- 
marsh,  spreading  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach, 
cut  by  countless  creeks,  displaying  a  vast  ex- 
panse of  soft,  rich  shades  of  brown;  there  are 
cranberry-meadows  of  twenty,  thirty,  or  fifty 
level  acres,  covered  with  matted  vines  and 
crimson  with  berries;  there  are  deserted  pas- 
tures, bright  with  golden-rod  and  asters.  And 
everywhere  along  the  shores,  against  the  dark 
pine  woods,  are  the  varied  reds  of  oaks,  of 
blackberry  vines,  of  woodbine,  and  of  sumach. 

It  was  a  bright  fall  afternoon;  most  of  the 
boats  were  in,  and  lay  near  shore  before  the 
sail-loft  door ;  the  sails  were  up  to  dry,  —  for  it 
had  been  wet  outside,  —  looking  doubly  white 
against  the  colors  of  the  shore. 

In  the  sail-loft  they  were  telling  stories. 

"  No,  I  don't  think  myself,"  said  Deacon  Luce, 
from  the  rocking-chair,  "  that  ministers  always 
show  what  we  call  horse  sense.  They  used  to 
tell  a  story  of  Parson  Allen,  that  preached  in 
the  Old  Town,  in  my  father's  time,  that  pleased 
me.  One  spring  the  parson  took  a  notion  to 
raise  a  pig.  So  he  went  down  to  Jim  Barrows, 


FIVE  HUNDRED   DOLLARS.  43 

that  lived  there  handy  by,  and  says  he,  '  Mr. 
Barrows,  I  hear  you  have  a  litter  of  young 
pigs,  and  I  should  like  to  have  one  to  raise.' 
So  Jim  he  got  his  stilyards  and  weighed  him 
out  one,  and  the  minister  paid  him,  and  Jim 
he  sent  it  up.  Well,  the  minister  kep'  it  some 
three  months,  and  he  used  to  go  out  every  day 
and  put  on  his  spectacles  and  take  his  scythe 
down  from  the  apple-tree  and  mow  pig-weed 
for  him,  and  he  bought  corn-meal  to  feed  him 
up  with,  and  one  way  and  another  he  laid  out 
a  good  deal  on  him.  The  pig  fattened  well, 
but  the  whole  incessant  time  he  was  either 
rooting  out  and  gitting  into  the  garden,  or 
he  'd  ketch  his  foot  in  behind  the  trough  and 
squeal  like  mad,  or  something  else,  so  that 
the  minister  had  to  keep  leaving  his  sermon- 
writing  to  straighten  him  out,  and  the  minister's 
wife  complained  of  the  squealing  when  she  had 
company.  And  so  the  parson  decided  to  heave 
the  enterprise  up,  and  Jim  sent  up  and  took  the 
pig  back.  Come  to  settle,  '  How  do  we  stand  ?  ' 
says  the  minister.  '  Oh,  just  as  you  say/  says 
Jim,  'I'll  leave  it  to  you.'  'Well/  says  the 
minister,  '  on  the  one  hand  you  Ve  got  back 


44  FIVE   HUNDRED   DOLLARS. 

a  pig  that  you've  been  paid  for;  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  I  Ve  had  the  use  of  him  for  some 
three  months,  —  and  so  I  guess  we  're  square.'  " 
"Talking  of  preachers,"  said  Caleb  Parker, 
"  reminds  me  of  a  story  they  tell  of  Uncle 
Cephas  Bascom,  of  Northhaven.  Uncle  Cephas 
was  a  shoemaker,  and  he  never  went  to  sea 
much,  only  to  anchor  his  skift  in  the  Narrows 
abreast  of  his  house,  and  catch  a  mess  of 
scup,  or  to  pole  a  load  of  salt-hay  from  San- 
quitt  Island.  But  he  used  to  visit  his  married 
daughter,  in  Vermont,  and  up  there  they  knew 
he  come  from  the  sea-board,  and  they  used  to 
call  him  '  Captain  Bascom.'  So,  one  time  when 
he  was  there,  they  had  a  Sabbath-school  con- 
cert, and  nothing  would  do  but  '  Captain  Bas- 
com '  must  talk  to  the  boys,  and  tell  a  sea-yarn, 
and  draw  a  moral,  the  way  the  Deacon,  here, 
does."  The  Deacon  gravely  smiled,  and  stroked 
his  beard.  "Well,  Uncle  Cephas  was  ruther 
pleased  with  his  name  of  '  Captain  Bascom,' 
and  he  did  n't  like  to  go  back  on  it,  and  so  he 
flaxed  round  to  git  up  something.  It  seems  he 
had  heard  a  summer  boarder  talk  in  Sabbath- 
school,  at  Northhaven;  he  told  how  a  poor 


FIVE  HUNDRED   DOLLARS.  45 

boy  minded  his  mother,  and  then  got  to  tend 
store,  and  then  kep'  store  himself,  and  then  he 
jumped  it  on  them.  '  That  poor  boy/  says  he, 
'  now  stands  before  you.'  So  Uncle  Cephas 
thought  him  up  a  similar  yarn.  Well,  he  had 
never  spoke  in  meeting  before,  and  he  hemmed 
and  hawed  some,  but  he  got  on  quite  well  while 
he  was  telling  about  a  certain  poor  boy,  and  all 
that,  and  how  the  boy  when  he  grew  up  was  out 
at  sea,  in  an  open  boat,  and  saw  a  great  sword- 
fish  making  for  the  boat  Hail  Columbia,  and 
bound  to  stave  right  through  her  and  sink  her, 
—  and  how  this  man  he  took  an  oar,  and  give 
it  a  swing,  and  broke  the  critter's  sword  square 
off;  and  then  Uncle  Cephas  —  he  'd  begun  to  git 
a  little  flustered  —  he  stops  short,  and  waves  his 
arms,  and  says  he,  *  Boys,  what  do  you  think ! 
That  sword-fish  now  stands  before  you  !  ' 
"  I  cal'late  that  brought  the  house  down." 
Captain  Philo,  who  had  laid  down  his  three- 
cornered  sail-needle,  to  listen  to  this  exciting 
story,  readjusted  the  leather  thimble  that  cov- 
ered his  palm,  and  began  to  sew  again.  Uncle 
Silas,  sitting  near  the  water  door,  in  his  brown 
,  overalls  made  with  a  breast-apron  and  suspender- 


46  FIVE   HUNDRED   DOLLARS. 

straps,  looked  out  at  the  boats.  A  silence  fell 
on  the  company. 

It  was  broken  by  Calvin  Green. 

"  A  man  was  telling  me  rather  a  curious 
story,  the  other  night,"  he  said.  "  I  was  just 
explaining  to  him  exactly  how  't  was  that  David 
Prince  lost  his  money,  and  so  he  told  this :  — 

"  There  was  a  boy  that  was  clerk  in  a  store, 
and  one  day  they  sent  him  over  to  the  bank  to 
git  some  money.  It  was  before  the  war,  and 
the  bank  gave  him  twenty  ten-dollar  gold  pieces. 
But  when  he  got  back  to  the  store  there  was 
one  short.  The  boy  had  n't  nothin'  to  say. 
He  admitted  he  hadn't  dropped  none,  because 
he  'd  put  'em  in  a  leather  bag  where  he  could 
n't  lose  one  without  he  lost  all,  and  the  cashier 
knew  he  had  n't  made  any  mistake.  The  store- 
keeper he  heard  the  story,  and  then  he  put  his 
hand  on  the  boy's  shoulder,  and  says  he,  '  I 
don't  know  what  to  make  o'  this ;  but  I  believe 
this  boy/  says  he,  'and  we  '11  just  drop  it,  and 
say  no  more  about  it.'  So  it  run  along,  and 
the  next  day  that  it  rained,  one  of  the  clerks  in 
the  store  took  down  an  old  umberella,  and,  come 
to  unfurl  it,  out  falls  a  ten-dollar  gold  piece. 


FIVE   HUNDRED   DOLLARS.  47 

Seems  that  the  boy  had  that  umberella  that 
day,  and  hooked  it  on  to  the  counter  in  the 
bank,  by  the  handle,  and  one  of  the  coins  must 
have  slid  off  into  it  when  he  was  countin'  'em, 
and  then  he  probably  did  n't  spread  the  um- 
berella coming  back.  And,  as  this  man  said 
that  was  telling  me,  it  don't  do  to  bet  too  much 
on  suspicion.  Now,  only  for  that  Jew's  being 
such  a  hard  character,  according  to  the  news- 
papers, I  should  be  loath  to  charge  him  with 
taking  David's  money;  I  should  say  David 
might  have  lost  it  somewhere  else." 

Nobody  spoke.  Captain  Bennett  whistled 
softly. 

"  I  never  felt  so  bad  in  my  life,"  continued 
Green,  "  as  I  did  when  he  missed  his  money. 
When  we  come  up  into  the  depot  he  was  telling 
me  a  kind  of  a  comical  story  about  old  Jim 
Torrey,  how  he  wanted  to  find  out  if  all  his  hens 
was  laying,  or  if  any  of  'em  was  disposed  to 
shirk,  and  he  got  him  a  pass-book  ruled  in 
columns,  and  opened  a  ledger  account  with 
every  hen,  by  a  name  he  give  her ;  and  we  got 
up  to  the  ticket-window,  and  he  put  his  hand 
into  his  breast-pocket  for  his  wallet —  by  George  ! 


48  FIVE   HUNDRED   DOLLARS. 

I  Ve  seen  him  chaff  and  joke,  sort  of  quiet,  when 
we  was  going  to  ride  under  every  minute ;  but 
he  turned  as  white  then  as  that  new  mainsail, 
and  off  he  went,  like  a  shot.  But  't  was  no  use. 
Of  course,  the  jewelry  feller  wouldn't  disgorge 
on  David's  say-so,  without  no  proof. 

"  It  was  like  this,"  he  went  on;  "the  counter 
was  here,  —  and  David  stood  here,  —  and  I  was 
here,  —  an(i  we  both  come  off  together.  But  I 
tell  you,  —  the  way  David  looked  when  he  put 
in  his  hand  for  his  wallet !  He  stopped  laugh- 
ing, as  if  he  see  a  ghost;  I  can't  get  it  out  of 
my  head.  And  how  the  man  that  stole  the 
money  can  stand  it  I  can't  figure  out." 

"  Perhaps  he  's  calloused,"  said  the  Deacon, 
"  by  what  the  paper  said  the  other  night  about 
his  buying  a  parcel  of  clothes  hooked  out  of 
some  man's  entry.  We  concluded  'twas  the 
same  man  —  by  the  name." 

"Can't  believe  all  that's  in  the  paper,"  said 
Perez  Todd ;  "  you  know  the  paper  had  me 
to  be  married,  once  ;  the  boys  put  it  in  for  fun; 
they  made  up  the  name  for  the  female,  I  guess, 
for  I  Ve  been  kind  of  shyin'  round  for  her  this 
ten  year,  and  have  n't  seen  no  such  woman." 


FIVE  HUNDRED   DOLLARS.  49 

"Yes,  sir,  he's  a  hard  ticket,"  said  Green; 
"  that 's  so,  every  time.  Well,  I  must  be  going ; 
I  agreed  to  go  and  help  Elbridge  over  at  half 
flood." 

"  Half  flood  about  five,"  said  Captain  Bennett; 
"  you  have  n't  any  great  time  to  spare." 

Green  went  to  the  shore,  rattled  a  skiff  down 
over  the  beach  to  the  water,  and  pulled  away, 
with  quick,  short  strokes.  First  the  skiff  was 
cut  off  from  sight  by  the  marsh-bank;  then 
the  rower's  head  alone  was  seen  above  the  tall 
brown  grasses ;  and  then  he  pulled  around  the 
bend  and  was  lost  to  view  behind  a  mass  of  flam- 
ing woodbine;  and  still,  in  the  distance,  could 
be  heard  across  the  water  the  rattle  of  his  oars 
in  the  thole-pins. 

"Well,  Silas?"  said  Captain  Bennett. 

"Well?"  said  Uncle  Silas. 

"Oh!  /'ve  nothing  to  say,"  said  Captain 
Bennett. 

"  Nor  I,"  said  Uncle  Silas. 

"  Calvin 's  always  seemed  to  be  a  good-hearted 
fellow,"  said  Captain  Philo,  "  since  he 's  lived 
here." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Captain  Bennett;  "seems  to 
4 


5O  FIVE   HUNDRED   DOLLARS. 

feel  for  David  surprisingly.  Told  me  all  about 
the  losing  of  the  money,  told  my  wife,  told  my 
boy,  told  Uncle  Joe,  told  our  minister,  told  the 
Doctor,  told  Zimri  Cobb,  told  Cyrus  Bass,  told 
Captain  John  Wells,  told  Patrick  Coan;  and 
proves  it  out  to  'em  all  that  'twas  the  Jew  that 
did  it." 

"  Kind  of  zealous,  like  the  Apostle  Paul  sup- 
plying the  pulpit  to  the  Gentiles,"  said  the 
Deacon ;  "  won't  let  alone  of  a  man,  till  he 
gives  in  't  the  Hebrew's  in  the  wrong." 

"But  7've  nothing  to  say,"  said  Captain 
Bennett. 

"  Oh,  no,  nor  I,"  said  Uncle  Silas. 

From  the  distance,  borne  on  the  gentle  breeze, 
a  click  as  even  as  a  pulse-beat  came  faintly 
over  the  water. 

"  He  may  be  a  good-hearted  fellow,"  said  the 
Deacon,  "  but  I  don't  know  as  I  hanker  to  be 
the  man  that 's  pulling  that  skiff.  But  then,  — 
that  may  be  simply  and  solely  because  I  prefer 
a  hair-cloth  rocker  to  a  skiff." 

"Delia,"  said  David  Prince  to  his  wife,  one 
afternoon,  "  Calvin  Green  has  bought  four 


FIVE   HUNDRED   DOLLARS.  51 

tickets  to  that  stereopticon  show  that 's  going  to 
be  in  the  West  Church  to-night,  and  he  gave 
me  two,  for  you  and  me." 

"  I  don't  want  his  tickets,"  she  replied,  ironing 
away  at  the  sunny  window. 

"  Now,  what's  the  use  of  talking  that  way?  " 
said  her  husband,  "  as  much  as  to  say —  " 

"  I  have  my  opinion,"  she  said. 

"Well,"  said  her  husband,  "  I  think  it's  a 
hard  way  to  use  a  man,  just  because  he  hap- 
pened to  be  by  when  I  lost  my  money." 

"  I  '11  tell  you,"  said  Delia,  stopping  her  work ; 
"  we  will  go,  and  all  I  '11  say  is  this  —  you  see  if 
after  the  lecture  's  over  he  does  n't  find  a  text  in 
it  to  talk  about  our  money.  Now,  you  just  wait 
and  see  —  that 's  all." 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  said  the  lecturer, 
standing  by  a  great  circle  of  light  thrown  on 
the  wall,  behind  the  pulpit,  "  I  have  now,  with  a 
feeling  of  awe  befitting  this  sacred  place,  thus 
given  you,  in  the  first  part  of  my  lecture,  a  suc- 
cinct view  of  the  origin,  rise,  and  growth  of  the 
globe  on  which,  as  the  poet  has  justly  said,  '  we 
dwell.'  I  have  shown  you  —  corroborating 


52  FIVE  HUNDRED   DOLLARS. 

Scripture  —  the  earth,  without  form  and  void, 
the  awful  monsters  of  the  Silurian  age,  and  Man 
in  the  Garden  of  Eden. 

"  I  now  invite  you  to  journey  with  me —  as 
one  has  said  — '  across  the  continent.' 

"  Travelling  has  ever  been  viewed  as  a  means 
of  education.  Thus  Athenian  sages  sought  the 
learning  of  the  Orient.  Thus  may  we  this 
evening,  without  toil  or  peril,  or  expense  be- 
yond the  fifteen  cents  already  incurred  for  the 
admission-fee,  journey  in  spirit  from  the  wild 
Atlantic  to  the  sunset  coast.  In  the  words  of 
the  sacred  lyrist,  Edgar  A.  Poe,  '  My  country,  't  is 
of  thee,'  that  I  shall  now  display  some  views. 

"  Of  course  we  start  from  Boston.  On  the 
way  to  New  York,  we  will  first  pause  to  view 
the  scene  where  Putnam  galloped  down  a  flight 
of  steps,  beneath  the  hostile  fire.  See  both 
mane  and  coat-tails  flying  in  the  wind,  and 
the  eyes  of  steed  and  rider  wildly  dilated  with 
excitement. 

"  Next  we  pause  in  Brooklyn.  And  from 
my  immense  variety  of  scenes  in  the  City  of 
Churches,  I  choose  the  firemen's  monument  in 
Greenwood  Cemetery. 


FIVE  HUNDRED   DOLLARS.  53 

'  Here  they  lie  low  who  raised  their  ladders  high ; 
Here  they  still  live,  —  for  heroes  cannot  die  ! ' 

[A  voice:  "  How  many  are  buried  there?  "] 

"  I  should  say,  at  a  venture,  eighteen.  [A 
rustle  of  sympathy  among  the  women.] 

"  Passing  on,  and  coming  thence  to  the  me- 
tropolis of  New  York,  I  am  greatly  embarrassed, 
so  vast  is  the  richness  and  variety  of  views. 
But  I  will  show  first  the  '  Five  Points.'  [Great 
eagerness,  and  cries,  "  Down  front !  "]  Of  late, 
philanthropy  and  religion,  walking  in  sweet 
converse,  hand  in  hand,  have  relieved  the 
horrors  of  this  region,  and  now  one  may  walk 
there  comparatively  safe.  [Sudden  cessation  of 
interest.] 

"  I  will  give  even  another  view  of  the  metrop- 
olis :  a  charming  scene  in  Central  Park.  [Here 
wavered  dimly  on  the  screen  five  bushes,  and  a 
nursery-maid  with  a  baby-carriage.]  From  this 
exquisite  picture  you  may  gain  some  faint 
idea  of  the  charms  of  that  Paradise  raised  by 
the  wand  of  taste  and  skill  in  a  waste  of  arid 
sands. 

"  Passing  westward,  I  next  present  the  Sus- 
pension Bridge  at  Niagara,  erected  by  drawing 


54  FIVE   HUNDRED   DOLLARS. 

over  the  majestic  stream  a  cord,  a  small  rope, 
then  a  wire,  until  the  whole  vast  framework  was 
complete.  The  idea  was  taken  from  the  spider's 
web.  Thus  the  humblest  may  guide  the  high- 
est; and  I  love  to  recall,  in  this  connection,  that 
the  lamented  Lincoln,  some  years  before  sign- 
ing the  Emancipation  Proclamation,  heard  me 
lecture  on  slavery,  in  Peoria. 

"  Next  we  come  to  Cleveland ;  and  our  atten- 
tion is  seized  by  three  cannons  taken  in  the 
famous  naval  battle  on  the  lake.  Every  visitor 
pauses  here,  and  with  uncovered  head  and  eyes 
suffused  with  tears  recalls  the  sacrifices  of  the 
Fathers. 

"  Next  we  view  Chicago  the  morning  after 
the  fire;  on  every  hand  are*  blackened  ruins, 
—  painful  proofs  of  the  vicissitudes  of  human 
fortune !  [A  voice :  "  I  was  there  at  the 
time."]  I  am  delighted  to  know  it.  Such  spon- 
taneous corroboration  from  the  audience  is 
to  the  lecturer's  heart  as  a  draught  from  the 
well  of  Baca.  [Laughter,  and  a  voice :  "  What 
Baker?"] 

"  But,  in  order  to  cross  so  broad  a  continent, 
we  must  not  dally,  and  next  I  show  you  the 


FIVE  HUNDRED   DOLLARS.  55 

Mormon  Temple  in  Salt  Lake  City,  the  seat  of 
a  defiant  system  of  sin.  All  things,  however, 
have  their  uses,  and  I  can  recommend  this  re- 
ligion to  any  young  lady  present  who  does  not 
find  it  easy  to  secure  a  helpmeet.  [Apprecia- 
tive laughter.] 

"  And  now,  for  a  view  of  the  Pacific  States, 
I  choose  two  of  the  famed  Big  Trees.  Judge 
of  them  by  the  two  men  who  stand,  like  the 
Widow's  mites,  beside  them.  These  trees  are 
called  '  Father  and  Daughter.'  [A  voice : 
"Which  is  Father,  and  which  is  Daughter?"] 
I  am  not  informed,  but  from  their  appearance  I 
judge  that  the  nearer  is  the  Father.  [Derisive 
laughter.] 

"  And  now  we  approach  a  climax. 

"  When  the  Ten  Thousand,  in  their  storied 
march,  reached  at  last  the  blue  waters  of  the 
Euxine,  thrilled  with  joy  they  loudly  cried: 
'  The  Sea  !  The  Sea ! '  So  we,  travellers  likewise, 
reach  at  last  the  Western  Ocean;  and  for  a 
striking  scene  upon  its  waters,  I  present  a  Pacific 
Mail  steamer  at  her  dock  in  the  harbor  of  San 
Francisco.  In  the  left  foreground  is  a  Chinese 
laundry.  And  now  I  can  hardly  restrain  myself 


56  FIVE  HUNDRED   DOLLARS. 

from  passing  on  to  Asia ;  for  imagination,  tak- 
ing fire,  beckons  to  Niphon  and  .the  Flowery 
Kingdom.  But  remorseless  Time  says  no,  and 
we  pause  at  the  Golden  Gate. 

"  In  closing,  now,  I  will,  as  is  usual,  give  one 
or  two  moral  views,  relieved  by  others  of  a  some- 
what playful  character. 

"  First  is  Napoleon's  grave.  He  who  held 
Europe  struggling  in  his  hand,  died  a  pris- 
oner in  solitudes  remote,  far  from  home  en- 
dearments. 

"  Next  you  see  Daniel  Lambert,  whose  great- 
ness was  of  a  more  solid  cast.  Less  grasping 
in  his  pretensions  than  Napoleon,  he  lived  an 
honored  life,  and  died,  I  understand,  among  his 
relatives. 

"  Next  is  a  picture  of  the  guillotine,  calling  up 
thoughts  of  severed  heads  from  memory's  clois- 
ters. On  the  left  you  see  a  ghastly  head ;  on 
the  right  the  decapitated  trunk.  By  the  victim 
stand  the  bloody  actors  in  the  tragedy.  Ladies 
and  gentlemen !  When  I  review  the  awful  guilt 
of  Marat  and  Robespierre,  humbly  do  I  give 
thanks  that  I  have  been  kept  from  yielding,  like 
them,  to  fierce  ambition  and  lust  of  power,  and 


FIVE   HUNDRED   DOLLARS.  57 

that  I  can  lay  my  head  upon  a  peaceful  pillow 
at  my  home  in  Fall  River. 

"  Next  is  the  Serenade.  Part  one  :  The  Span- 
ish lover  with  bow-knot  shoes,  pointed  hat,  and 
mantle  over  shoulder,  stands,  with  his  lute,  on 
the  covered  water-butt,  while  at  the  casement 
above  is  his  lady's  charming  face.  Part  two : 
The  head  of  the  water-butt  has  given  way,  and 
the  angry  father,  from  his  window,  beholds  a 
scene  of  luckless  misery. 

11 1  turn  now  to  a  more  pleasing  view,  —  the 
Village  Blacksmith.  The  mighty  man  is  at  his 
work,  and  by  a  triumph  of  art  I  am  enabled  to 
show  his  fine  physique  in  action:  now  you  see 
his  arm  uplifted,  —  and  now  the  hammer  is  on 
the  iron.  Up  —  down  —  up  —  down.  [A  voice : 
"  There  are  two  right  arms !  "]  That  arises 
from  some  slight  defect  in  the  arrangement  of 
the  light ;  the  uplifted  arm  does  not  entirely  van- 
ish when  the  lowered  arm  appears.  But  to  the 
thoughtful  observer,  such  slight  contrasts  only 
heighten  enjoyment. 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen !  A  single  word  in 
closing.  Our  transcontinental  journey  this  even- 
ing ended  at  the  Golden  Gate.  When  life's 


58  FIVE  HUNDRED  DOLLARS. 

journey  ends,  may  we  not  so  pause,  but,  as  the 
poet  Judson  Backus  sweetly  sings :  — 

*  May  we  find  an  angel  wait 
To  lead  us  through  the  "  golden  gate." ' 

"  Meanwhile,  adieu." 


David  Prince  and  his  wife  walked  slowly 
home  in  the  clear,  cold  moonlight. 

"  Did  you  notice,"  said  Delia,  "  how  the  man 
kept  saying  that  he  didn't  know  just  what  to 
pick  out,  to  show?  Well,  I  heard  the  Kelley  boy, 
that  helped  at  the  lamps,  say  that  they  showed 
every  identical  picture  there  was.  I  suppose 
they  are  a  lot  of  odds  and  ends  he  picked  up  at 
an  auction." 

"  I  think  he  was  a  kind  of  a  humbug,"  said 
Calvin  Green,  who,  with  his  wife,  had  come  up 
close  behind.  "  See  how  he  kept  dragging 
in  his  morals,  jes  like  overhauling  a  trawl 
and  taking  off  a  haddock,  every  once  in  so 
often." 

"What  away  to  travel,"  said  his  wife;  "to 
go  ker-jump  from  New  York  City  to  Niagara, 
and  from  there  to  Cleveland.  He  must  have 
thought  we  had  long  stilts." 


FIVE   HUNDRED   DOLLARS.  59 

"  The  pictures  were  rather  here  and  there  and 
everywhere,  to  be  sure,"  said  David ;  "  but  I 
have  a  good  deal  of  charity  for  these  men; 
I  s'pose  they  're  put  to  it  for  bread  and 
butter." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  Green;  "  I  don't 
think  it  has  a  good  influence  on  young  peo- 
ple to  show  such  a  picture  as  that  man  that 
they  murdered  by  slicing  his  head  off  with 
that  machine.  I  don't  like  such  things  to  be 
brought  up." 

"  I  should  think  the  opposite,"  said  his  wife, 
laughing,  "  by  the  way  you  've  told  every  man 
in  town  about  David's  money,  and  the  way 
he  blanched  when  he  missed  it.  I  think  you  'd 
better  take  a  lesson  yourself  about  bringing  up 
dreadful  things." 

When  they  reached  Green's  house,  a  low, 
black  cottage,  they  stopped  a  moment  for  the 
women  to  finish  a  discussion  about  croup. 

"How  did  that  look  to  you  now,  David?" 
said  Green.  "  Did  n't  you  think  it  would  have 
been  a  good  deal  better  to  have  left  that  picture 
out?" 

"  Which  one?"  said  David. 


60  FIVE   HUNDRED   DOLLARS. 

"Why,  the  one  where  they'd  chopped  the 
man's  head  off  with  that  machine,  and  were  stand- 
ing by,  looking  at  the  corpse.  I  don't  like  to 
see  such  things,  for  my  part." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  David.  "  I  did  n't  think 
about  it  particularly.  I  understood  it  was  in 
the  French  Revolution." 

"Well,  see  all  that  flummer-diddle  he  got 
off  about  it,"  said  Green;  "just  as  if  any  fool 
did  n't  know  that  a  man  could  n't  sleep  that  was 
haunted  by  a  thing  like  that." 

"  Well,  some  can  stomach  anything,  and  I  sup- 
pose some  can  sleep  on  anything,"  said  David. 
"  I  guess  it  would  take  more  than  slicing  one 
man's  head  off  to  make  that  Jew  lie  awake 
nights.  If  he  'd  only  admitted  that  I  'd  been 
there !  But  as  soon  as  I  said  I  'd  left  some- 
thing, then  for  him  and  his  wife  to  claim  they 
never  saw  me  !  They  're  cool  ones  !  " 

"  Well,  right  here,  —  about  what  my  wife  flung 
out,"  said  Green,  glancing  over  his  shoulder  to 
where  the  women  were  talking,  both  at  once, 
woman-fashion ;  "  you  know  my  wife's  way,  — 
you  haven't  ever  heard  any  such  talk  going 
round,  have  you,  as  that  I  was  hounding  folks 


FIVE  HUNDRED   DOLLARS.  6 1 

about  your  bad  luck?  I  say  an  honest  man 
speaks  right  out,  —  no  fear,  no  favor.  Ain't  that 
so?" 

It  was  a  bitterly  cold,  clear  night,  a  few  weeks 
later.  Runners  squeaked  and  boot-heels 
crunched  in  the  road.  David  had  passed  Green's 
house  at  seven  o'clock,  going  to  the  store ;  he 
always  went  by  there  at  that  time,  Saturdays, 
and  passed  again,  returning  home,  at  about 
eight. 

When  he  reached  the  gate,  on  his  return, 
Green  was  standing  there,  apparently  waiting. 

"  Come  into  the  house  a  minute,  David,"  he 
said ;  "  I  want  to  see  you." 

He  led  him  into  the  kitchen. 

"  My  wife 's  gone  over  to  Aunt  Nathan's  for 
the  evening,"  he  said. 

He  shut  the  door,  and  locked  it. 

"  There !  "  he  said ;  "  I  can't  stand  it  any 
longer;"  and  he  laid  upon  a  table  at  David's  side 
a  wallet.  David  took  it  up  and  opened  it ;  it 
held  a  great  roll  of  bills. 

"What  does  this  mean?  "he  said;  "why  — 
this  is  mine  !  You  don't  mean  —  " 


62  FIVE   HUNDRED   DOLLARS. 

"  I  mean  I  stole  it,"  said  Green. 

David  sat  down.  "  I  wish  you  had  put  it  in 
the  fire,"  he  said,  "  and  never  told  me." 

"  There's  just  one  thing  I  want  to  say,"  said 
Green.  "  I  picked  it  up,  first,  to  give  it  to  you, 
and  when  I  saw  that  you  'd  forgot  it,  I  thought 
I  'd  have  a  little  joke  on  you  for  a  while ;  and 
then,  when  I  saw  how  things  was  going,  I  kind 
o'  drifted  into  keeping  it.  You  know  how  I 
come  home,  —  all  my  voyage  eat  up,  and  a  hun- 
dred dollars'  debts  besides,  and  children  sick. 
But  every  dollar 's  there. 

"  Now,  what  I  ask,"  he  added,  "  is  four  days' 
time  to  ship  and  get  away.  What  are  you  going 
to  do?" 

"  Nothing,"  said  David ;  "  settle  your  debts 
and  pay  me  when  you  can."  And  taking  five 
twenty-dollar  bills  from  the  wallet,  he  left  them 
on  the  table  and  went  away. 


THE  VILLAGE   CONVICT. 


r  Eph  's  got  back ;  they  say 
his  sentence  run  out  yisterday." 

The  speaker,  John  Doane,  was  a  sunburnt 
fisherman,  one  of  a  circle  of  well-salted  individ- 
uals who  sat,  some  on  chairs,  some  on  boxes  and 
barrels,  around  the  stove  in  a  country  store. 

"Yes,"  said  Captain  Seth,  a  middle-aged  little 
man  with  ear-rings;  "he  come  on  the  stage  to- 
noon.  Would  n't  hardly  speak  a  word,  Jim 
says.  Looked  kind  o'  sot  and  sober." 

"  Wall,"  said  the  first  speaker,  "  I  only  hope 
he  won't  go  to  burnin'  us  out  of  house  and 
home,  same  as  he  burnt  up  Eliphalet's  barn. 
I  was  ruther  in  hopes  he  'd  'a'  made  off  West. 
Seems  to  me  I  should,  in  his  place,  hevin'  ben 
in  State's-prison." 

"  Now,  I  allers  hed  quite  a  parcel  o'  sympathy 
for  Eph,"  said  a  short,  thickset  coasting  cap- 


64  THE   VILLAGE   CONVICT. 

tain,  who  sat  tilted  back  in  a  three-legged  chair, 
smoking  lazily.  "  You  see,  he  wa'n't  but  about 
twenty-one  or  two  then,  and  he  was  allers  a 
mighty  high-strung  boy;  and  then  Eliphalet 
did  act  putty  ha'sh,  foreclosin'  on  Eph's  mother, 
and  turnin'  her  out  o'  the  farm  in  winter,  when 
everybody  knew  she  could  ha'  pulled  through 
by  waitin'.  Eph  sot  great  store  by  the  old 
lady,  and  I  expect  he  was  putty  mad  with 
Eliphalet  that  night." 

"  I  allers,"  said  Doane,  "  approved  o'  his  plan 
o'  leadin'  out  all  the  critters,  'fore  he  touched 
off  the  barn.  'T  ain't  everybody  't  would  hev 
taken  pains  to  do  that.  But  all  the  same,  I  tell 
Sarai  't  I  feel  kind  o'  skittish,  nights,  to  hev 
to  turn  in,  feelin'  't  there  's  a  convict  in  the 
place." 

"  I  hain't  got  no  barn  to  burn,"  said  Captain 
Seth;  "but  if  he  allots  my  hen-house  to  the 
flames,  I  hope  he'll  lead  out  the  hens  and 
hitch  'em  to  the  apple-trees,  same 's  he  did 
Eliphalet's  critters.  Think  he  ought  to  deal 
ekally  by  all." 

A  mild  general  chuckle  greeted  this  sally, 
cheered  by  which  the  speaker  added,  — 


THE  VILLAGE  CONVICT.  65 

"  Thought  some  o'  takin'  out  a  policy  o'  in- 
surance on  my  cockerel." 

"  Trade  's  lookin'  up,  William,"  said  Captain 
Seth  to  the  storekeeper,  as  some  one  was  heard 
to  kick  the  snow  off  his  boots  on  the  door-step. 
"  Somebody  's  found  he 's  got  to  hev  a  shoe- 
string 'fore  mornin'." 

The  door  opened,  and  closed  behind  a 
strongly-made  man  of  twenty-six  or  seven,  of 
homely  features,  with  black  hair,  in  clothes 
which  he  had  outgrown.  It  was  a  bitter  night, 
but  he  had  no  coat  over  his  flannel  jacket.  He 
walked  straight  down  the  store,  between  the 
dry-goods  counters,  to  the  snug  corner  at  the 
rear;  where  the  knot  of  talkers  sat;  nodded, 
without  a  smile,  to  each  of  them,  and  then 
asked  the  storekeeper  for  some  simple  arti- 
cles of  food,  which  he  wished  to  buy.  It  was 
Eph. 

While  the  purchases  were  being  put  up, 
an  awkward  silence  prevailed,  which  the  oil- 
suits  hanging  on  the  walls,  broadly  displaying 
their  arms  and  legs,  seemed  to  mock,  in  dumb 
show. 

Nothing  was  changed,  to  Eph's  eyes,   as  he 
5 


66  THE  VILLAGE   CONVICT. 

looked    about.     Even   the   handbill  of  familiar 
pattern  — 

"STANDING   WOOD    FOR   SALE. 
APPLY  TO  J.  CARTER,  ADMIN'R," 

seemed  to  have  always  been  there. 

The  village  parliament  remained  spellbound. 
Mr.  Adams  tied  up  the  purchases,  and  mildly 
inquired,  — 

"Shall  I  charge  this?" 

Not  that  he  was  anxious  to  open  an  account, 
but  that  he  would  probably  have  gone  to  the 
length  of  selling  Eph  a  barrel  of  molasses  "  on 
tick  "  rather  than  run  any  risk  of  offending  so 
formidable  a  character. 

"  No,"  said  Eph ;  "  I  will  pay  for  the  things." 

And  having  put  the  packages  into  a  canvas 
bag,  and  selected  some  fish-hooks  and  lines 
from  the  show-case,  where  they  lay  environed 
by  jack-knives,  jews-harps,  and  gum-drops, — 
dear  to  the  eyes  of  childhood,  —  he  paid  what 
was  due,  said  "  Good-night,  William,"  to  the 
storekeeper,  and  walked  steadily  out  into  the 
night. 

"  Wall,"  said  the  skipper,  "  I  am  surprised ! 
I  strove  to  think  o'  suthin'  to  say,  all  the  time 


THE  VILLAGE   CONVICT.  67 

he  was  here,  but  I  swow  I  could  n't  think  o' 
nothin'.  I  could  n't  ask  him  if  it  seemed  good 
to  git  home,  nor  how  the  thermometer  had 
varied  in  different  parts  o'  the  town  where  he  'd 
been.  Everything  seemed  to  fetch  right  up 
standin'  to  the  State's-prison." 

"  I  was  just  goin'  to  say,  '  How  'd  ye  leave 
everybody?'"  said  Doane;  "but  that  kind  o' 
seemed  to  bring  up  them  he  'd  left.  I  felt  real 
bad,  though,  to  hev  the  feller  go  off  'thout 
none  on  us  speakin'  to  him.  He  's  got  a  hard 
furrer  to  plough ;  and  yet  I  don't  s'pose  there  's 
much  harm  in  him,  'f  Eliphalet  only  keeps 
quiet." 

"  Eliphalet !  "  said  a  young  sailor,  contemptu- 
ously. "  No  fear  o'  him !  They  say  he  's  so 
sca't  of  Eph  he  hain't  hardly  swallowed  nothin' 
for  a  week." 

"  But  where  will  he  live?  "  asked  a  short,  curly- 
haired  young  man,  whom  Eph  had  seemed  not 
to  recognize.  It  was  the  new  doctor,  who, 
after  having  made  his  way  through  college  and 
the  great  medical  school  in  Boston,  had,  two 
years  before,  settled  in  this  village. 

"I    believe,"    said    Mr.    Adams,    rubbing  his 


68  THE  VILLAGE   CONVICT. 

hands,  "  that  he  wrote  to  Joshua  Carr  last  win- 
ter, when  his  mother  died,  not  to  let  the  little 
place  she  left,  on  the  Salt  Hay  Road;  and  I 
understand  that  he  is  going  to  make  his  home 
there.  It  is  an  old  house,  you  know,  and  not 
worth  much,  but  it  is  weather-tight,  I  should 
say." 

"  Speakin'  of  his  writin'  to  Joshua,"  said 
Doane,  "  I  have  heard  such  a  sound  as  that  he 
used  to  shine  up  to  Joshua's  Susan,  years  back. 
But  that 's  all  ended  now.  You  won't  catch 
Susan  marryin'  no  jailbirds." 

"  But  how  will  he  live?"  said  the  doctor. 
"  Will  anybody  give  him  work?  " 

"  Let  him  alone  for  livin',"  said  Doane.  "  He 
can  ketch  more  fish  than  any  other  two  men 
in  the  place  —  allers  seemed  to  kind  o'  hev  a 
knack  o'  whistlin'  'em  right  into  the  boat.  And 
then  Nelson  Briggs,  that  settled  up  his  mother's 
estate,  allows  he  's  got  over  a  hundred  and  ten 
dollars  for  him,  after  payin'  debts  and  all  pro- 
bate expenses.  That  and  the  place  is  all  he 
needs  to  start  on." 

"  I  will  go  to  see  him,"  said  the  doctor  to  him- 
self, as  he  went  out  upon  the  requisition  of  a 


THE  VILLAGE   CONVICT.  69 

grave  man  in  a  red  tippet,  who  had  just  come 
for  him.  "  He  does  n't  look  so  very  dangerous, 
and  I  think  he  can  be  tamed.  I  remember  that 
his  mother  told  me  about  him." 

Late  that  night,  returning  from  his  seven 
miles'  drive,  as  he  left  the  causeway,  built  across 
a  wide  stretch  of  salt-marsh,  crossed  the  rattling 
plank  bridge,  and  ascended  the  hill,  he  saw  a 
light  in  the  cottage  window,  where  he  had  often 
been  to  attend  Aunt  Lois.  "  I  will  stop  now," 
said  he.  And,  tying  his  horse  to  the  front  fence, 
he  went  toward  the  kitchen  door.  As  he  passed 
the  window,  he  glanced  in.  A  lamp  was  burn- 
ing on  the  table.  On  a  settle,  lying  upon  his 
face,  was  stretched  the  convict,  his  arms  beneath 
his  head.  The  canvas  bag  lay  on  the  floor  be- 
side him.  "  I  will  not  disturb  him  now,"  said 
the  doctor. 

A  few  days  later  Dr.  Burt  was  driving  in  his 
sleigh  with  his  wife  along  the  Salt  Hay  Road. 
It  was  a  clear,  crisp  winter  forenoon.  As  they 
neared  Eph's  house,  he  said,  — 

"  Mary,  suppose  I  lay  siege  to  the  fort  this 
morning.  I  see  a  curl  of  smoke  rising  from  the 


/O  THE  VILLAGE  CONVICT. 

little  shop  in  the  barn.  He  must  be  making 
himself  a  jimmy  or  a  dark-lantern  to  break  into 
our  vegetable  cellar  with." 

"  Well,"  said  she,  "  I  think  it  would  be  a  good 
plan ;  only,  you  know,  you  must  be  very,  very 
careful  not  to  hint,  even  in  the  faintest  way,  at 
his  imprisonment.  You  must  n't  so  much  as 
suspect  that  he  has  ever  been  away  from  the 
place.  People  hardly  dare  to  speak  to  him,  for 
fear  he  will  see  some  reference  to  his  having 
been  in  prison,  and  get  angry." 

"You  shall  see  my  sly  tact,"  said  her  hus- 
band, laughing.  "  I  will  be  as  innocent  as  a 
lamb.  I  will  ask  him  why  I  have  not  seen  him 
at  the  Sabbath-school  this  winter." 

"  You  may  make  fun,"  said  she,  "  but  you 
will  end  by  taking  my  advice,  all  the  same. 
Now,  do  be  careful  what  you  say." 

"  I  will,"  he  replied.  "  I  will  compose  my 
remarks  carefully  upon  the  back  of  an  envelope 
and  read  them  to  him,  so  as  to  be  absolutely 
sure.  I  will  leave  on  his  mind  an  impression 
that  I  have  been  in  prison,  and  that  he  was  the 
judge  that  tried  me." 

He  drove  in  at  the   open    gate,  hitched   his 


THE  VILLAGE  CONVICT.  71 

horse  in  a  warm  corner  by  the  kitchen  door, 
and  then  stopped  for  a  moment  to  enjoy  the 
view.  The  situation  of  the  little  house,  half  a 
mile  from  any  other,  was  beautiful  in  summer, 
but  it  was  bleak  enough  in  winter.  In  the  small 
front  dooryard  stood  three  lofty,  wind-blown 
poplars,  all  heading  away  from  the  sea,  and 
between  them  you  could  look  down  the  bay  or 
across  the  salt-marshes,  while  in  the  opposite 
direction  were  to  be  seen  the  roofs  and  the 
glittering  spires  of  the  village. 

"  It  is  social  for  him  here,  to  say  the  least," 
said  the  doctor,  as  he  turned  and  walked  alone 
to  the  shop.  He  opened  the  door  and  went  in. 
It  was  a  long,  low  lean-to,  such  as  farmers  often 
furnish  for  domestic  work  with  a  carpenter's 
bench,  a  grindstone,  and  a  few  simple  tools.  It 
was  lighted  by  three  square  windows  above  the 
bench.  An  air-tight  stove,  projecting  its  funnel 
through  a  hole  in  one  of  the  panes,  gave  out  a 
cheerful  crackling. 

Eph,  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  his  hands  in  his  pock- 
ets, was  standing,  his  back  against  the  bench,  sur- 
veying, with  something  of  a  mechanic's  eye,  the 
frame  of  a  boat  which  was  set  up  on  the  floor. 


72  THE  VILLAGE  CONVICT. 

He  looked  up  and  colored  slightly.  The 
doctor  took  out  a  cigarette,  lit  it,  sat  down  on 
the  bench,  and  smoked,  clasping  one  knee  in 
his  hands  and  eying  the  boat. 

"  Centre-board?"  he  asked,  at  length. 

"  Yes,"  said  Eph. 

"Cat-rig?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Going  fishing?  " 

"  Yes." 

-Alone?" 

"  Yes." 

"  I  was  brought  up  to  sail  a  boat,"  said  the 
doctor,  "  and  I  go  fishing  in  summer  —  when 
I  get  a  chance.  I  shall  try  your  boat,  some 
time." 

No  reply. 

"The  timbers  aren't  seasoned,  are  they? 
They  look  like  pitch-pine,  just  out  of  the  woods. 
Won't  they  warp  ?  " 

"  No.  Pitch-pine  goes  right  in,  green.  1^ 
s'pose  the  pitch  keeps  it,  if  it 's  out  of  the  sun." 

"Where  did  you  cut  it?" 

Eph  colored  a  little. 

"  In  my  back  lot." 


THE  VILLAGE   CONVICT.  73 

The  doctor  smoked  on  calmly,  and  studied 
the  boat. 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  know  you,"  said  Eph, 
relaxing  a  little. 

"  Good  reason,"  said  the  doctor.  "  I  Ve  only 
been  here  two  years ;  "  and  after  a  moment's 
pause,  he  added :  "  I  am  the  doctor  here,  now. 
You  Ve  heard  of  my  father,  Dr.  Burt,  of  Broad 
River?" 

Eph  nodded  assent;  everybody  knew  him, 
all  through  the  country, — a  fatherly  old  man, 
who  rode  on  long  journeys  at  everybody's  call, 
and  never  sent  in  his  bills. 

The  visitor  had  a  standing  with  Eph  at  once. 

"  Doctors  never  pick  at  folks,"  he  said  to 
himself  —  "  at  any  rate,  not  old  Dr.  Burt's 
son." 

"  I  used  to  come  here  to  see  your  mother," 
said  the  doctor,  "  when  she  was  sick.  She  used 
to  talk  a  great  deal  about  you,  and  said  she 
wanted  me  to  get  acquainted  with  you,  when 
your  time  was  out." 

Eph  started,  but  said  nothing. 

"  She  was  a  good  woman,  Aunt  Lois,"  added 
the  doctor ;  "  one  of  the  best  women  I  ever  saw." 


74  THE  VILLAGE   CONVICT. 

"  I  don't  want  anybody  to  bother  himself  on 
my  account,"  said  Eph.  "  I  ask  no  favors." 

"  You  will  have  to  take  favors,  though,"  said 
the  doctor,  "  before  the  winter  is  over.  You 
will  be  careless  and  get  sick;  you  have  been 
living  for  a  long  time  entirely  in-doors,  with 
regular  hours  and  work  and  food.  Now  you 
are  going  to  live  out-of-doors,  and  get  your  own 
meals,  irregularly.  You  did  n't  have  on  a  thick 
coat  the  other  night, when  I  saw  you  at  the  store." 

"  I  have  n't  got  any  that 's  large  enough  for 
me,"  said  Eph,  a  little  less  harshly,  "  and  I  've 
got  to  keep  my  money  for  other  things." 

"  Thenlook  out  and  wearflannel  shirts  enough," 
said  the  doctor,  "  if  you  want  to  be  independent. 
But  before  I  go,  I  want  to  go  into  the  house. 
I  want  my  wife  to  see  Aunt  Lois's  room,  and 
the  view  from  the  west  window;  "  and  he  led 
the  way  to  the  sleigh. 

Eph  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  followed 
him. 

"  Mary,  this  is  Ephraim  Morse.  We  are  go- 
ing in  to  see  the  Dutch  tiles  I  have  told  you  of." 

She  smiled  as  she  held  out  her  mittened  hand 
to  Eph,  who  took  it  awkwardly. 


THE  VILLAGE  CONVICT.  75 

The  square  front  room,  which  had  been  origi- 
nally intended  for  a  keeping-room,  but  had  been 
Aunt  Lois's  bedroom,  looked  out  from  two  win- 
dows upon  the  road,  and  from  two  upon  the 
rolling,  tumbling  bay,  and  the  shining  sea  be- 
yond. A  tall  clock,  with  a  rocking  ship  above 
the  face,  ticked  in  the  corner.  The  painted 
floor  with  bright  rag  mats,  the  little  table  with 
a  lacquer  work-box,  the  stiff  chairs  and  the  old- 
fashioned  bedstead,  the  china  ornaments  upon 
the  mantel-piece,  the  picture  of  "  The  Emeline  G. 
in  the  Harbor  of  Canton,"  were  just  as  they  had 
been  when  the  patient  invalid  had  lain  there, 
looking  from  her  pillow  out  to  sea.  In  twelve 
rude  tiles,  set  around  the  open  fireplace,  the  He- 
brews were  seen  in  twelve  stages  of  their  escape 
from  Egypt.  It  would  appear  from  this  repre- 
sentation that  they  had  not  restricted  their  bor- 
rowings to  the  jewels  of  their  oppressors,  but 
had  taken  for  the  journey  certain  Dutch  cloth- 
ing of  the  fashion  of  the  seventeenth  century. 
The  scenery,  too,  was  much  like  that  about 
Leyden. 

"  I  think,"  said  the  doctor's  wife,  "  that  the 
painter  was  just  a  little  absent-minded  when  he 


76  THE  VILLAGE  CONVICT. 

put  in  that  beer-barrel.      And  a  wharf,  by  the 
Red  Sea !  " 


"  I  wish  you  would  conclude  to  rig  your  boat 
with  a  new  sail,"  said  the  doctor,  as  he  took 
up  the  reins,  at  parting.  "  There  is  n't  a  boat 
here  that 's  kept  clean,  and  I  should  like  to  hire 
yours  once  or  twice  a  week  in  summer,  if  you 
keep  her  as  neat  as  you  do  your  house.  Come 
in  and  see  me  some  evening,  and  we  '11  talk  it 
over." 

Eph  built  his  boat,  and,  in  spite  of  his  evident 
dislike  of  visitors,  the  inside  finish  and  the  ar- 
rangements of  the  little  cabin  were  so  ingenious 
and  so  novel  that  everybody  had  to  pay  him  a 
visit. 

True  to  his  plan  of  being  independent,  he 
built  in  the  side  of  the  hill,  near  his  barn,  by  a 
little  gravelly  pond,  an  ice-house,  and  with  the 
hardest  labor  filled  it,  all  by  himself.  With 
this  supply,  he  would  not  have  to  go  to  the  gen- 
eral wharf  at  Sandy  Point  to  sell  his  fish,  with 
the  other  men,  but  could  pack  and  ship  them 
himself.  And  he  could  do  better,  in  this  way, 


THE  VILLAGE   CONVICT.  77 

he  thought,  even  after  paying  for  teaming  them 
to  the  cars. 

The  knowing  ones  laughed  to  see  that,  from 
asking  no  advice,  he  had  miscalculated  and  laid 
in  three  times  as  much  as  he  could  use. 

"  Guess  Eph  cal'lates  to  fish  with  two  lines  in 
each  hand  an'  another  'n  his  teeth,"  said  Mr. 
Wing.  "  He  's  plannin'  out  for  a  great  lay  o' 
fish." 

The  spring  came  slowly  on,  and  the  first  boat 
that  went  out  that  season  was  Eph's.  That  day 
was  one  of  unmixed  delight  to  him.  What  a 
sense  of  absolute  freedom,  when  he  was  fairly 
out  beyond  the  lightship,  with  the  fresh  swift- 
ness of  the  wind  in  his  face  !  What  an  exquisite 
consciousness  of  power  and  control,  as  his  boat 
went  beating  through  the  long  waves  !  Two  or 
three  men  from  another  village  sailed  across 
his  wake.  His  boat  lay  over,  almost  showing 
her  keel,  now  high  out  of  water,  now  settling 
between  the  waves,  while  Eph  stood  easily  in 
the  stern,  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  backing  against 
the  tiller,  smoking  a  pipe,  and  ranging  the 
waters  with  his  eyes. 

"Takes  it  natural  ag'in,  don't  he?     Stands  as 


78  THE  VILLAGE   CONVICT. 

easy  as  ef  he  was  loafin'  on  a  wharf,"  said  one 
of  the  observers.  "  Expect  it 's  quite  a  treat 
to  be  out.  But  they  do  say  he  's  gittin'  every- 
body's good  opinion.  They  looked  for  a  reg'- 
lar  ruffi'n  when  he  come  home,  —  cuttin'  nets, 
killin'  cats,  chasin'  hens,  gittin'  drunk !  They 
say  Eliphalet  Wood  did  n't  hardly  dare  to  go 
ou'  doors  for  a  month,  'thout  havin'  his  hired 
man  along.  But  he  's  turned  out  as  peaceful 
as  a  little. gal." 

One  June  day,  as  Eph  was  slitting  blue- 
fish  at  the  little  pier  which  he  had  built  on  the 
bay  shore,  near  his  rude  ice-house,  two  men 
came  up. 

"  Hullo,  Eph !  " 

"  Hullo !  " 

"  We  Ve  got  about  sick,  tradin'  down  to  the 
wharf;  we  can't  git  no  fair  show.  About  one 
time  in  three,  they  tell  us  they  don't  want  our 
fish,  and  won't  take  'em  unless  we  heave  'em  in 
for  next  to  nothin',  —  and  we  know  there  ain't 
no  sense  in  it.  So  we  just  thought  we  'd  slip 
down  and  see  'f  you  would  n't  take  'em,  seein's 
you  Ve  got  ice,  and  send  'em  up  with  yourn." 


THE  VILLAGE  CONVICT.  79 

Eph  was  taken  all  aback  with  this  mark  of  con- 
fidence. The  offer  must  be  declined.  It  evi- 
dently sprang  from  some  mere  passing  vexation. 

"  I  can't  buy  fish,"  said  he.  "  I  have  no 
scales  to  weigh  'em." 

"  Then  send  ourn  in  separate  berrels,"  said 
one  of  the  men. 

"  But  I  have  n't  any  money  to  pay  you,"  he 
said.  "  I  only  get  my  pay  once  a  month." 

"We'll  git  tick  at  William's,  and  you  can 
settle  'th  us  when  you  git  your  pay." 

"  Well,"  said  he,  unable  to  refuse,  "  I  '11  take 
'em,  if  you  say  so." 

Before  the  season  was  over,  he  had  still  an- 
other customer,  and  could  have  had  three  or 
four  more,  if  he  had  had  ice  enough.  He  felt 
strongly  inclined  that  fall  to  build  a  larger  ice- 
house; and  although  he  was  a  little  afraid  of 
bringing  ridicule  upon  himself  in  case  no  fish 
should  be  brought  to  him  the  next  summer,  he 
decided  to  do  so,  on  the  assurance  of  three  or 
four  men  that  they  meant  to  come  to  him.  No- 
body else  had  such  a  chance,  —  a  pond  right  by 
the  shore. 

One  evening  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door 


80  THE  VILLAGE   CONVICT. 

of  Eliphalet  Wood,  the  owner  of  the  burned 
barn.  Eliphalet  went  to  the  door,  but  turned 
pale  at  seeing  Eph  there. 

"  Oh,  come  in,  come  in  !  "  he  panted.  "  Glad 
to  see  you.  Walk  in.  Have  a  chair.  Take  a 
seat.  Sit  down." 

But  he  thought  his  hour  had  come :  he  was 
alone  in  the  house,  and  there  was  no  neighbor 
within  call. 

Eph  took  out  a  roll  of  bills,  counted  out 
eighty  dollars,  laid  the  money  on  the  table,  and 
said  quietly,  — 

"  Give  me  a  receipt  on  account." 

When  it  was  written  he  walked  out,  leaving 
Eliphalet  stupefied. 

Joshua  Carr  was  at  work,  one  June  afternoon, 
by  the  roadside,  in  front  of  his  low  cottage,  by 
an  enormous  pile  of  poles,  which  he  was  shaving 
down  for  barrel-hoops,  when  Eph  appeared. 

"  Hard  at  it,  Joshua  !  "  he  said. 

"  Yes,  yes  !  "  said  Joshua,  looking  up  through 
his  steel-bowed  spectacles.  "  Hev  to  work 
hard  to  make  a  livin'  —  though  I  don't  know 's 
I  ought  to  call  it  hard,  neither;  and  yet  it  is 


THE  VILLAGE   CONVICT.  8 1 

ruther  hard,  too ;  but  then,  on  t'  other  hand, 
't  ain't  so  hard  as  a  good  many  other  things  — 
though  there  is  a  good  many  jobs  that 's  easier. 
That 's  so  !  that 's  so  ! 

'  Must  we  be  kerried  to  the  skies 
On  feathery  beds  of  ease  ? ' 

Though  I  don't  know  's  I  ought  to  quote  a  hymn 
on  such  a  matter;  but  then  —  I  don*  know 's 
there's  any  partic'lar  harm  in't,  neither." 

Eph  sat  down  on  a  pile  of  shavings  and 
chewed  a  sliver;  and  the  old  man  kept  on  at 
his  work. 

"  Hoop-poles  goin'  up  and  hoops  goin'  down," 
he  continued.  "  Cur'us,  ain't  it?  But  then,  I 
don'  know  as  'tis;  woods  all  bein*  cut  off — 
poles  gittin'  scurcer — hoops  bein'  shoved  in 
from  Down  East.  That  don't  seem  just  right, 
now,  does  it?  But  then,  other  folks  must  make 
a  livin',  too.  Still,  I  should  think  they  might 
take  up  suthin'  else;  and  yet,  they  might  say 
that  about  me.  Understand,  I  don't  mean  to 
say  that  they  actually  do  say  so ;  I  don't  want 
to  run  down  any  man  unless  I  know — " 

"  I    can't  stand   this,"  said    Eph   to  himself; 
"  I  don't  wonder  that  they  always  used  to  put 
6 


82  THE  VILLAGE  CONVICT. 

Joshua  off  at  the  first  port,  when  he  tried  to  go 
coasting.  They  said  he  talked  them  crazy  with 
nothing. 

"  I  '11  go  into  the  house  and  see  Aunt  Lyddy," 
he  said  aloud.  "  I  'm  loafing,  this  afternoon." 

"  All  right !  all  right !  "  said  Joshua.  "  Lyd- 
dy '11  be  glad  to  see  you  —  that  is,  as  glad  as  she 
would  be  to  see  anybody,"  he  added,  reaching 
out  for  a  pole.  "  Now,  I  don't  s'pose  that  sounds 
very  well ;  but  still,  you  know  how  she  is  —  she 
allers  likes  to  hev  folks  to  talk,  and  then  she  's 
allers  sayin'  talkin'  wears  on  her;  but  I  ought 
not  to  say  that  to  you,  because  she  allers  likes 
to  see  you  —  that  is,  as  much  as  she  likes  to  see 
anybody.  In  fact,  I  think,  on  the  whole  — 

"Well,  I'll  take  my  chances,"  said  Eph, 
laughing ;  and  he  opened  the  gate  and  went  in. 

Joshua's  wife,  whom  everybody  called  Aunt 
Lyddy,  was  rocking  in  a  high-backed-chair  in 
the  kitchen,  and  knitting.  It  was  currently  re- 
ported that  Joshua's  habit  of  endlessly  retract- 
ing and  qualifying  every  idea  and  modification 
of  an  idea  which  he  advanced,  so  as  to  commit 
himself  to  nothing,  was  the  effect  of  Aunt 
Lyddy's  careful  revision. 


THE  VILLAGE  CONVICT.  83 

"  I  s'pose  she  thought  'twas  fun  to  be  talked 
deef  when  they  was  courtin',"  Captain  Seth  had 
once  sagely  remarked.  "  Prob'ly  it  sounded 
then  like  a  putty  piece  on  a  seraphine ;  but  I 
allers  cal'lated  she  'd  git  her  fill  of  it,  sooner 
or  later.  You  most  gin'lly  git  your  fill  o'  one 
tune." 

"How  are  you  this  afternoon,  Aunt  Lyddy?" 
asked  Eph,  walking  in  without  knocking,  and 
sitting  down  near  her. 

"  So  as  to  be  able  to  keep  about,"  she  replied. 
"  It  is  a  great  mercy  I  ain't  afflicted  with  fall- 
ing out  of  my  chair,  like  Hepsy  Jones,  ain't 
it?" 

"  I  Ve  brought  you  some  oysters,"  he  said. 
"  I  set  the  basket  down  on  the  door-step.  I  just 
took  them  out  of  the  water  myself  from  the  bed 
I  planted  to  the  west  of  the  water-fence." 

"  I  always  heard  you  was  a  great  fisherman," 
said  Aunt  Lyddy,  "  but  I  had  no  idea  you  would 
ever  come  here  and  boast  of  being  able  to  catch 
oysters.  Poor  things  !  How  could  they  have 
got  away?  But  why  don't  you  bring  them  in  ? 
They  won't  be  afraid  of  me,  will  they?" 

He  stepped  to  the  door  and  brought  in  a  peck 


84  THE  VILLAGE   CONVICT. 

basket  full  of  large,  black,  twisted  shells,  and 
with  a  heavy  clasp-knife  proceeded  to  open 
one,  and  took  out  a  great  oyster,  which  he  held 
up  on  the  point  of  the  blade. 

"  Try  it,"  he  said ;  and  then  Aunt  Lyddy, 
after  she  had  swallowed  it,  laughed  to  think 
what  a  tableau  they  had  made,  —  a  man  who  had 
been  in  the  State's-prison  standing  over  her  with 
a  great  knife !  And  then  she  laughed  again. 

"  What  are  you  laughing  at?  "  he  said. 

"It  popped  into  my  head,  supposing  Susan 
should  have  looked  in  at  the  south  window 
and  Joshua  in  at  the  door,  when  you  was  feeding 
out  that  oyster  to  me,  what  they  would  have 
thought !  " 

Eph  laughed  too;  and,  surely  enough,  just 
then  a  stout,  light-haired,  rather  plain-looking 
young  woman  came  up  to  the  south  window  and 
leaned  in.  She  had  on  a  sun-bonnet,  which  had 
not  prevented  her  from  securing  a  few  choice 
freckles.  She  had  been  working  with  a  trowel 
in  her  flower-garden. 

"  What 's  the  matter  ?  "  she  said,  nodding 
easily  to  Eph.  "  What  do  you  two  always  find 
to  laugh  about? " 


THE  VILLAGE  CONVICT.  85 

"  Ephraim  was  feeding  me  with  spoon-meat," 
said  Aunt  Lyddy,  pointing  to  the  basket,  which 
looked  like  a  basket  of  anthracite  coal. 

"  It  looks  like  spoon-meat !  "  said  Susan,  and 
then  she  laughed  too.  "  I  '11  roast  some  of  them 
for  supper,"  she  added,  —  "  a  new  way  that  I 
know." 

Eph  was  not  invited  to  stay  to  supper,  but 
he  stayed,  none  the  less :  that  was  always  under- 
stood. 

"  Well,  well,  well  !  "  said  Joshua,  coming 
to  the  door-step,  and  washing  his  hands  and 
arms  just  outside,  in  a  tin  basin.  "  I  thought  I 
see  you  set  down  a  parcel  of  oysters  —  but  there 
was  sea-weed  over  'em,  and  I  don'  know 's  I  could 
have  said  they  was  oysters;  but  then,  if  the 
square  question  had  been  put  to  me,  '  Mr.  Carr, 
be  them  oysters  or  be  they  not?'  I  s'pose  I 
should  have  said  they  was ;  still,  if  they  'd  asked 
me  how  I  knew  — " 

"  Come,  come,  father ! "  said  Aunt  Lyddy, 
"  do  give  poor  Ephraim  a  little  peace.  Why 
don't  you  just  say  you  thought  they  were  oys- 
ters, and  done  with  it?  " 

"  Say  I  thought  they  was?  "  he  replied,  inno- 


86  THE  VILLAGE   CONVICT. 

cently.  "  I  knew  well  enough  they  was  —  that 
is  —  knew  ?  No,  I  did  n't  know,  but  —  " 

Aunt  Lyddy,  with  an  air  of  mock  resignation, 
gave  up,  while  Joshua  endeavored  to  fix,  to  a 
hair,  the  exact  extent  of  his  knowledge. 

Eph  smiled ;  but  he  remembered  what  would 
have  made  him  pardon,  a  thousand  times  over, 
the  old  man's  garrulousness.  He  remembered 
who  alone  had  never  failed,  once  a  year,  to  visit 
a  certain  prisoner,  at  the  cost  of  a  long  and  tire- 
some journey,  and  who  had  written  to  that 
homesick  prisoner  kind  and  cheering  letters,  and 
had  sent  him  baskets  of  simple  dainties  for 
holidays. 

Susan  bustled  about,  and  made  a  fire  of  crack- 
ling sticks,  and  began  to  roast  the  oysters  in  a 
way  that  made  a  most  savory  smell.  She  set 
the  table,  and  then  sat  down  at  the  melodeon, 
while  she  was  waiting,  and  sang  a  hymn;  for 
she  was  of  a  musical  turn,  and  was  one  of  the 
choir.  Then  she  jumped  up  and  took  out  the 
steaming  oysters,  and  they  all  sat  down. 

"Well,  well,  well!"  said  her  father;  " these 
be  good !  I  did  n't  s'pose  you  hed  any  very 
good  oysters  in  your  bed,  Ephraim.  But  there, 


THE  VILLAGE  CONVICT.  8/ 

now  —  I  don't  s'pose  I  ought  to  have  said  that; 
that  was  n't  very  polite ;  but  what  I  meant  was, 
I  did  n't  s'pose  you  hed  any  that  was  real 
good  —  though  I  don'  know  but  I've  said  about 
the  same  thing,  now.  Well,  any  way,  these 
be  splendid ;  they  're  full  as  good  as  those  co- 
hogs  we  had  t'other  night." 

"  Quahaugs  !  "  said  Susan.  "  The  idea  of 
comparing  these  oysters  with  quahaugs !  " 

"  Well,  well !  that 's  so  !  "  said  her  father.  "  I 
did  n't  say  right,  did  I,  when  I  said  that !  Of 
course,  there  ain't  no 'comparison  —  that  is  — no 
comparison?  Why,  of  course,  they  is  a  com- 
parison between  everything,  —  but  then,  cohogs 
don't  really  compare  with  oysters !  That 's 
true!" 

And  then  he  paused  to  eat  a  few. 

He  was  silent  so  long  at  this  occupation  that 
they  all  laughed. 

"Well,  well!  "  he  said,  laying  down  his  fork, 
and  smiling  innocently;  "what  be  you  all 
laughin'  at?  Not  but  what  I  allers  like  to  hev 
folks  laugh  —  but  then,  I  didn't  see  nothin' 
to  laugh  at.  Still,  perhaps  they  was  suthin'  to 
laugh  at  that  I  did  n't  see ;  sometimes  one 


88  THE  VILLAGE   CONVICT. 

man  '11  be  lookin'  down  into  his  plate,  all  taken 
up  with  his  victuals,  and  others,  that 's  lookin' 
around  the  room,  may  see  the  kittens  frolickin', 
or  some  such  thing.  T  ain't  the  fust  time  I  've 
known  all  hands  to  laugh  all  to  once-t,  when  I 
didn't  see  nothin'." 

Susan  helped  him  again,  and  secured  another 
brief  respite. 

"  Ephraim,"  said  he,  after  a  while,  "  you  ain't 
skilled  to  cook  oysters  like  this,  I  don't  believe. 
You  ought  to  git  married !  I  was  sayin'  to 
Susan  t'other  day  —  well,  now,  mother,  hev 
I  said  anything  out  o'  the  way?  Well,  I 
don't  s'pose  't  was  just  my  place  to  have  said 
anything  about  gitt'n'  married,  to  Ephraim, 
seein's  —  " 

"  Come,  come,  father,"  said  Aunt  Lyddy, 
"  that  '11  do,  now.  You  must  let  Ephraim  alone, 
and  not  joke  him  about  such  things." 

Meanwhile  Susan  had  hastily  gone  into  the 
pantry  to  look  for  a  pie,  which  she  seemed 
unable  at  once  to  find. 

"  Pie  got  adrift?  "  called  out  Joshua.  "  Seems 
to  me  you  don't  hook  on  to  it  very  quick.  Now 
that  looks  good,"  he  added,  when  she  came  out. 


THE  VILLAGE  CONVICT.  89 

"  That  looks  like  cookin' !  All  I  meant  was,  't 
Ephraim  ought  not  to  be  doin'  his  own  cookin' 
—  that  is,  'f  you  can  call  it  cookin'.  But  then, 
of  course,  'tis  cookin' — there's  all  kinds  o' 
cookin'.  I  went  cook  myself,  when  I  was  a 
boy." 

After  supper,  Aunt  Lyddy  sat  down  to  knit, 
and  Joshua  drew  his  chair  up  to  an  open  win- 
dow, to  smoke  his  pipe.  In  this  vice  Aunt 
Lyddy  encouraged  him.  The  odor  of  Virginia 
tobacco  was  a  sweet  savor  in  her  nostrils.  No 
breezes  from  Araby  ever  awoke  more  grate- 
ful feelings  than  did  the  fragrance  of  Uncle 
Joshua's  pipe.  To  Aunt  Lyddy  it  meant  quiet 
and  peace. 

Susan  and  Eph  sat  down  on  the  broad  flag 
door-stone,  and  talked  quietly  of  the  simple 
news  of  the  neighborhood,  and  of  the  days 
when  they  used  to  go  to  school,  and  come 
home,  always  together. 

"  I  did  n't  much  think  then,"  said  Eph,  "  that 
I  should  ever  bring  up  where  I  have,  and  get 
ashore  before  I  was  fairly  out  to  sea !  " 

"  Jehiel's  schooner  got  ashore  on  the  bar, 
years  ago,"  said  Susan,  "  and  yet  they  towed 


90  THE  VILLAGE   CONVICT. 

• 

her  off,  and  I  saw  her  this  morning,  from  my 
chamber  window,  before  sunrise,  all  sail  set, 
going  by  to  the  eastward." 

"  I  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Eph.  "  But 
here  —  I  got  mad  once,  and  I  almost  had  a 
right  to,  and  I  can't  get  started  again ;  I  never 
shall.  I  can  get  a  living,  of  course ;  but  I  shall 
always  be  pointed  out  as  a  jailbird,  and  could 
no  more  get  any  footing  in  the  world  than 
Portuguese  Jim." 

Portuguese  Jim  was  the  sole  professional 
criminal  of  the  town,  —  a  weak,  good-natured, 
knock-kneed  vagabond,  who  stole  hens,  and 
spent  every  winter  in  the  House  of  Correction 
as  an  "idle  and  disorderly  person." 

Susan  laughed  outright  at  the  picture.  Eph 
smiled  too,  but  a  little  bitterly. 

"  I  suppose  it  was  more  ugliness  than  any- 
thing else,"  he  said,  "  that  made  me  come  back 
here  to  live,  where  everybody  knows  I  Ve  been 
in  jail  and  is  down  on  me." 

"They  are  not  down  on  you,"  said  Susan. 
"  Nobody  is  down  on  you.  It 's  all  your  own 
imagination.  And  if  you  had  gone  anywhere 
that  you  was  a  stranger,  you  know  that  the  first 


THE  VILLAGE  CONVICT.  91 

thing  that  you  would  have  done  would  have 
been  to  call  a  meeting  and  tell  all  the  people 
that  you  had  burned  down  a  man's  barn  and 
been  in  the  State's-prison,  and  that  you  wanted 
them  all  to  know  it  at  the  start  ;  and  you 
wouldn't  have  told  them  why  you  did  it,  and 
how  young  you  was  then,  and  how  Eliphalet 
treated  your  mother,  and  how  you  was  going 
to  pay  him  for  all  he  lost.  Here,  everybody 
knows  that  side  of  it.  In  fact/'  she  added,  with 
a  little  twinkle  in  her  eye,  "  I  have  sometimes 
had  an  idea  that  the  main  thing  they  don't 
like  is,  to  see  you  saving  every  cent  to  pay  to 
Eliphalet." 

"  And  yet  it  was  on  your  say  that  I  took  up 
that  plan,"  said  Eph.  "  I  never  thought  of  it 
till  you  asked  me  when  I  was  going  to  begin  to 
pay  him  up." 

"  And  you  ought  to,"  said  Susan.  "  He  has 
a  right  to  the  money — and  then,  you  don't 
want  to  be  under  obligations  to  that  man  all 
your  life.  Now,  what  you  want  to  do  is  to 
cheer  up  and  go  around  among  folks.  Why, 
now  you  're  the  only  fish-buyer  there  is  that 
the  men  don't  watch  when  he  's  weighing  their 


92  THE  VILLAGE  CONVICT. 

fish.  You  '11  own  up  to  that,  for  one  thing, 
won't  you?" 

"  Well,  they  are  good  fellows  that  bring  fish 
to  me,"  he  said. 

"  They  were  n't  good  fellows  when  they  traded 
at  the  great  wharf,"  said  Susan.  "  They  had  a 
quarrel  down  there  once  a  week,  regularly." 

"Well,  suppose  they  do  trust  me  in  that," 
said  Eph.  "  I  can  never  rub  out  that  I  Ve  been 
in  State's-prison." 

"You  don't  want  to  rub  it  out.  You  can't 
rub  anything  out  that 's  ever  been ;  but  you  can 
do  better  than  rub  it  out." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Take  things  just  the  way  they  are,"  said 
Susan,  "  and  show  what  can  be  done.  Perhaps 
you  '11  stake  a  new  channel  out  for  others  to 
follow  in,  that  haven  't  half  so  much  chance  as 
you  have.  And  that 's  what  you  will  do,  too," 
she  added. 

"  Susan  !  "  he  said,  "  if  there  's  anything  I  can 
ever  do,  in  this  world  or  the  next,  for  you  or 
your  folks,  that 's  all  I  ask  for,  —  the  chance  to 
do  it.  Your  folks  and  you  shall  never  want  for 
anything  while  I  'm  alive. 


THE  VILLAGE   CONVICT.  93 

"  There 's  one  thing  sure,"  he  added,  rising. 
"I'll  live  by  myself  and  be  independent  of 
everybody,  and  make  my  way  all  alone  in  the 
world;  and  if  I  can  make  'em  all  finally  own 
up  and  admit  that  I'm  honest  with  'em,  I'm 
satisfied.  That's  all  I'll  ever  ask  of  anybody. 
But  there 's  one  thing  that  worries  me  some- 
times ,  —  that  is,  whether  I  ought  to  come  here 
so  often.  I  'm  afraid,  sometimes,  that  it  '11  hinder 
your  father  from  gettin'  work,  or  —  something 
—  for  you  folks  to  be  friends  with  me." 

"  I  think  such  things  take  care  of  them- 
selves," said  Susan,  quietly.  "  If  a  chip  won't 
float,  let  it  sink." 

"  Good-night,"  said  Eph  ;  and  he  walked  off, 
and  went  home  to  his  echoing  house. 

After  that,  his  visits  to  Joshua's  became  less 
frequent. 

It  was  a  bright  day  in  March,  —  one  of  those 
which  almost  redeem  the  reputation  of  that  des- 
perado of  a  month.  Eph  was  leaning  on  his 
fence,  looking  now  down  the  bay  and  now  to 
where  the  sun  was  sinking  in  the  marshes.  He 
knew  that  all  the  other  men  had  gone  to  the 


94  THE  VILLAGE   CONVICT. 

town-meeting,  where  he  had  had  no  heart  to 
intrude  himself,  —  that  free  democratic  parlia- 
ment where  he  had  often  gone  with  his  father 
in  childhood ;  where  the  boys,  rejoicing  in  a 
general  assembly  of  their  own,  had  played  ball 
outside,  while  the  men  debated  gravely  within. 
He  recalled  the  time  when  he  himself  had  so 
proudly  given  his  first  vote  for  President,  and 
how  his  father  had  introduced  him  then  to 
friends  from  distant  parts  of  the  town.  He 
remembered  how  he  had  heard  his  father  speak 
there,  and  how  respectfully  everybody  had  lis- 
tened to  him.  That  was  in  the  long  ago,  when 
they  had  lived  at  the  great  farm.  And  then 
came  the  thought  of  the  mortgage,  and  of 
Eliphalet's  foreclosure,  and  — 

"  Hullo,  Eph  !  " 

It  was  one  of  the  men  from  whom  he  took 
fish,  —  a  plain-spoken,  sincere  little  man. 

"  Why  wa'n't  you  down  to  town-meet'n' ?  " 

"  I  was  busy,"  said  Eph. 

"  How  'd  ye  like  the  news?" 

"What  news?" 

There  was  never  any  good  news  for  him  now. 

"  Hain't  heard  who  's  elected  town-clerk?  " 


THE  VILLAGE   CONVICT.  95 

"  No." 

Had  they  elected  Eliphalet,  and  so  expressed 
their  settled  distrust  of  him,  and  sympathy  for 
the  man  whom  he  had  injured? 

"Who  is  elected?  "  he  asked  harshly. 

"You  be!"  said  the  man;  "went  in  flyin', 
—  all  hands  clappin'  and  stompin'  their  feet!  " 

An  hour  later  the  doctor  drove  up,  stopped, 
and  walked  toward  the  kitchen  door.  As  he 
passed  the  window,  he  looked  in. 

Eph  was  lying  on  his  face,  upon  the  settle,  as 
he  had  first  seen  him  there,  his  arms  beneath  his 
head. 

"  I  will  not  disturb  him  now,"  said  the 
doctor. 

One  breezy  afternoon,  in  the  following  sum- 
mer, Captain  Seth  laid  aside  his  easy  every-day 
clothes,  and  transformed  himself  into  a  stiff 
broadcloth  image,  with  a  small  silk  hat  and 
creaking  boots.  So  attired,  he  set  out  in  a  high 
open  buggy,  with  his  wife,  also  in  black,  but  with 
gold  spectacles,  to  the  funeral  of  an  aunt.  As 
they  pursued  their  jog-trot  journey  along  the 


96  THE  VILLAGE  CONVICT. 

Salt  Hay  Road,  and  came  to  Ephraim  Morse's 
cottage,  they  saw  Susan  sitting  in  a  shady  little 
porch  at  the  front  door,  shelling  peas  and 
looking  down  the  bay. 

"  How  is  everything,  Susan?"  called  out 
Captain  Seth ;  "  'bout  time  for  Eph  to  be  gitt'n' 
in?" 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  nodding  and  smiling, 
and  pointing  with  a  pea-pod ;  "  that  's  our 
boat,  just  coming  to  the  wharf,  with  her  peak 
down." 


SAINT   PATRICK. 

I. 

of  the  places  which  they  point  out  on 
Ship  Street  is  the  Italian  fruit-shop  on 
the  corner  of  Perry  Court,  before  the  door  of 
which,  six  years  ago,  Guiseppe  Cavagnaro,  burst- 
ing suddenly  forth  in  pursuit  of  Martin  Lavezzo, 
stabbed  him  in  the  back,  upon  the  sidewalk. 
"All  two"  of  them  were  to  blame,  so  the  wit- 
nesses said ;  but  Cavagnaro  went  to  prison  for 
fifteen  years.  That  was  the  same  length  of 
time,  as  it  happened,  that  the  feud  had  lasted. 

Nearly  opposite  is  Sarah  Ward's  New  Albion 
dance-hall.  It  opens  directly  from  the  street. 
There  is  an  orchestra  of  three  pieces,  one  of 
which  plays  in  tune.  That  calm  and  collected 
woman  whom  you  may  see  rocking  in  the  win- 
dow, or  sitting  behind  the  bar,,  sewing  or  knit- 
7 


98  SAINT   PATRICK. 

ting,  is  not  a  city  missionary,  come  to  instruct 
the  women  about  her;  it  is  Sarah  Ward,  the 
proprietress.  She  knows  the  Bible  from  end 
to  end.  She  was  a  Sunday-school  teacher  once; 
she  had  a  class  of  girls;  she  spoke  in  prayer- 
meetings  ;  she  had  a  framed  Scripture  motto  in 
her  chamber,  and  she  took  the  Teachers'  Lesson 
Quarterly;  she  visited  the  sick;  she  prayed  in 
secret  for  her  scholars'  conversion.  How  she 
came  to  change  her  views  of  life  nobody  knows, 
—  that  is  to  say,  not  everybody  knows.  And 
still  she  is  honest.  It  is  her  pride  that  sailors  are 
not  drugged  and  robbed  in  the  New  Albion. 

A  few  doors  below,  and  on  the  same  side  of 
the  street,  is  the  dance-hall  that  was  Bose  King's. 
It  is  here  that  pleasure  takes  on  its  most  sordid 
aspect.  If  you  wish  to  see  how  low  a  white 
woman  can  fall,  how  coarse  and  offensive  a 
negro  man  can  be,  you  will  come  here.  There 
is  an  inscription  on  the  bar,  in  conspicuous 
letters,  —  "  Welcome  Home." 

By  day  it  is  comparatively  still  in  Ship  Street. 
Women  with  soulless  faces  loll  stolidly  in  the 
open  ground-floor  windows.  There  are  few 
customers  in  the  bar-rooms;  here  and  there 


SAINT   PATRICK.  99 

two  or  three  idlers  shake  for  drinks.  Police- 
men stroll  listlessly  about,  and  have  little  to  do. 
But  at  nightfall  there  is  a  change;  the  scrape 
of  fiddles,  the  stamp  of  boot-heels,  is  heard 
from  the  dance-halls.  Oaths  and  boisterous 
laughter  everywhere  strike  the  ear.  Children, 
half-clad,  run  loose  at  eleven  o'clock.  Two 
policemen  at  a  corner  interrogate  a  young  man 
who  is  hot  and  excited  and  has  no  hat.  He 
admits  that  he  saw  three  men  run  from  the 
alley-way  and  saw  the  sailor  come  staggering 
out  after  them,  but  he  does  not  know  who  the 
men  were.  The  policemen  "  take  him  in,"  on 
suspicion. 

It  is  here  that  the  Day-Star  Mission  has 
planted  itself.  Its  white  flag  floats  close  by  the 
spot  where  Martin  Lavezzo  fell,  with  the  long 
knife  between  his  shoulder-blades.  Its  sign  of 
welcome  is  in  close  rivalry  with  the  harsh  strains 
from  Sarah  Ward's  and  the  lighted  stairway  to 
Bose  King's  saloon.  It  stands  here,  isolated 
and  strange,  an  unbidden  guest.  It  is  a  protest, 
a  reproof,  a  challenge,  an  uplifted  finger. 

But  while,  to  a  casual  glance,  the  Day-Star 


TOO  SAINT   PATRICK. 

Mission  is  all  out  of  place,  it  has,  nevertheless, 
its  following.  On  Monday  and  Thursday  after- 
noons a  troop  of  black-eyed,  jet-haired  Por- 
tuguese women,  half  of  whom  are  named  Mary 
Jesus,  flock  in  to  a  sewing-school.  On  Tues- 
days and  Fridays  American,  Scotch,  and  Irish 
women,  from  the  tenement-houses  of  the  quarter, 
fill  the  settees,  to  learn  the  use  of  the  needle, 
to  enjoy  a  little  peace,  and  to  hear  reading  and 
singing;  and  occasionally  the  general  public  of 
the  vicinity  are  invited  to  an  entertainment. 

It  was  a  February  afternoon ;  at  the  Mission 
building  the  board  were  in  monthly  session. 
The  meeting  had  been  a  spirited  one.  A  propo- 
sition to  amend  the  third  line  of  the  fourth 
by-law,  entitled  "  Decorum  in  the  Hall,"  by  in- 
serting the  word  "  smoking,"  had  been  debated 
and  had  prevailed.  A  proposition  to  buy  a  new 
mangle  for  the  laundry  had  been  defeated,  it 
having  been  humorously  suggested  that  the 
women  could  mangle  each  other.  Other  mat- 
ters of  interest  had  been  considered. 

Finally,  as  the  hour  for  adjournment  drew  near, 
a  proposition  was  brought  forth,  appropriate  to 


SAINT   PATRICK.  IOI 

the  season.  Saint  Patrick's  Day  was  approach- 
ing. It  was  to  many  a  day  of  temptation,  par- 
ticularly in  the  evening.  Would  it  not  be  a 
good  plan  to  hold  out  the  helping  hand,  in  the 
form  of  a  Saint  Patrick's  Day  festival,  with  an 
address,  for  example,  upon  Saint  Patrick's  life, 
with  Irish  songs  and  Irish  readings?  Such  an 
entertainment  would  draw  ;  it  would  keep  a 
good  many  people  out  of  the  saloons.  Such 
was  the  suggestions. 

The  proposition  excited  no  little  interest. 
Ladies  who  had  begun  to  put  on  their  wraps 
sat  down  again.  To  one  of  the  board,  a 
clergyman,  who  had  lately  been  lecturing  on 
"  Popery  the  People's  Peril,"  the  proposition 
was  startling.  It  looked  toward  the  breaking 
down  of  all  barriers;  it  gave  Romanism  an 
outright  recognition.  Another  member,  a  pro- 
duce-man, understood, —  in  fact  he  had  read  in 
his  denominational  weekly,  —  that  Saint  Patrick 
could  be  demonstrated  to  have  been  'a  Protes- 
tant, and  he  suggested  that  that  fact  might  be 
"  brought  out."  Others  viewed  the  matter  in 
that  humorous  light  in  which  this  festival  day 
commonly  strikes  the  American  mind. 


102  SAINT   PATRICK. 

The  motion  prevailed.  Even  the  anti-papis- 
tic clergyman  was  comforted,  apparently,  at 
last,  for  he  was  heard  to  whisper  jocosely  to 
his  left-hand  neighbor :  "  Saint  Patrick's  Day  in 
the  Morning !  " 

A  committee,  with  the  produce-man  at  the 
head,  was  appointed  to  select  a  speaker,  and 
to  provide  music  and  reading.  It  was  sug- 
gested that  perhaps  Mr.  Wakeby  and  Mrs. 
Wilson-Smith  would  volunteer,  if  urged,  —  their 
previous  charities  in  this  direction  had  made 
them  famous  in  the  neighborhood.  Mr.  Wakeby 
to  read  from  "Handy  Andy;"  Mrs.  Wilson- 
Smith  to  sing  "  Kathleen  Mavourneen,"  — 
there  would  not  be  standing-room ! 

So  finally  unanimity  prevailed,  and  with 
unanimity,  enthusiasm. 

The  committee  met,  and  the  details  were 
settled.  The  chairman  quietly  reserved  to  him- 
self, by  implication,  the  choice  of  a  speaker. 
He  knew  that  it  would  be  an  audience  hard 
to  hold.  The  occasion  demanded  a  man  of 
peculiar  gifts.  Such  a  man,  he  said  to  him- 
self, he  knew. 


SAINT   PATRICK.  IO3 


II. 

THE  single  meeting-house  of  L stands  on 

the  main  street,  with  its  tall  spire  and  its  two  tiers 
of  gray-blinded  windows.  Beside  it  is  the  mossy 
burial-ground,  where  prim  old  ladies  walk  on 
Sunday  afternoons,  with  sprigs  of  sweet-william. 

Across  the  street,  and  a  little  way  down  the 
road,  is  the  square  white  house  with  a  hopper- 
roof,  which  an  elderly,  childless  widow,  depart- 
ing this  life  some  forty  years  ago,  thoughtfully 
left  behind  her  for  a  parsonage.  It  is  a  pleas- 
ant, home-like  house,  open  to  sun  and  air,  and 
the  pleasantest  of  all  its  rooms  is  the  minister's 
study.  It  is  an  upper  front  chamber,  with 
windows  to  the  east  and  the  south.  There  is 
nothing  in  the  room  of  any  value ;  but  whether 
the  minister  is  within,  or  is  away  and  is  rep- 
resented only  by  his  palm-leaf  dressing-gown, 
somehow  the  spirit  of  peace  seems  always  to 
abide  there. 

There  is  the  ancient  desk,  which  the  minis- 
ter's children,  when  they  were  little,  used  to 
call  the  "  omnibus,"  by  reason  of  a  certain  vast 


104  SAINT  PATRICK. 

and  capacious  drawer,  the  resort  of  all  home- 
less things,  —  nails,  wafers,  the  bed-key,  curtain- 
fixtures,  carpet-tacks,  and  dried  rhubarb.  Per- 
haps it  was  to  this  drawer  that  the  minister's 
daughter  lately  referred,  when  she  said  that  the 
true  motto  was,  "  One  place  for  everything,  and 
everything  in  that  one  place." 

Over  the  chimney-piece  hangs  a  great  mis- 
sionary map,  showing  the  stations  of  the  dif- 
ferent societies,  with  a  key  at  one  side.  This 
blue  square  in  Persia  denotes  a  missionary 
post  of  the  American  Board  of  Commission- 
ers; that  red  cross  in  India  is  an  outpost  of 
a  Presbyterian  missionary  society;  this  green 
diamond  in  Arrapatam  marks  a  station  of 
the  Free  Church  Missionary  Union.  As  one 
looks  the  map  over,  he  seems  to  behold  the 
whole  missionary  force  at  work.  He  sees,  in 
imagination,  Mr.  Elmer  Small,  from  Augusta, 
Maine,  preaching  predestination  to  a  company  of 
Karens,  in  a  house  of  reeds,  and  the  Rev.  Geo. 
T.  Wood,  from  Massachusetts,  teaching  Paley  in 
Roberts  College  at  Constantinople. 

Thus  the  whole  Christian  world  lies  open 
before  you. 


SAINT   PATRICK.  105 

Pinned  up  on  one  of  the  doors  is  the  Pauline 
Chart.  Have  you  never  seen  the  Pauline 
Chart  ?  It  was  prepared  in  colored  inks,  by 
Mr.  Parker,  a  theological  student  with  a  turn 
for  penmanship,  and  lithographed,  and  was  sold 
by  him  to  eke  out  the  avails  of  what  are  inaptly 
termed  "supplies."  You  would  find  it  exceed- 
ingly convenient.  It  shows  in  a  tabulated  form, 
for  ready  reference,  the  incidents  of  Saint  Paul's 
career,  arranged  chronologically.  Thus  you  can 
find  at  a  glance  the  visit  to  Berea,  the  stoning 
at  Lystra,  or  the  tumult  at  Ephesus.  Its  use- 
fulness is  obvious.  Over  the  desk  is  a  map  of 
the  Holy  Land,  with  mountain  elevations. 

The  walls  of  the  room  are  for  the  most  part 
hidden  by  books.  The  shelves  are  simple  affairs 
of  stained  maple,  covered  heavily  with  succes- 
sive coats  of  varnish,  cracked,  as  is  that  of  the 
desk,  by  age  and  heat.  The  contents  are  varied. 
Of  religious  works  there  are  the  Septuagint, 
in  two  fat  little  blue  volumes,  like  Roman  can- 
dles; Conant's  Genesis;  Hodge  on  Romans; 
Hackett  on  Acts,  which  the  minister's  small 
children  used  to  spell  out  as  "Jacket  on  Acts;  " 
Knott  on  the  Fallacies  of  the  Antinomians ; 


106  SAINT   PATRICK. 

A  Tour  in  Syria ;  Dr.  Grant  and  the  Mountain 
Nestorians,  and  six  Hebrew  Lexicons,  singed 
by  fire,  —  a  paternal  inheritance. 

There  are  a  good  many  works,  too,  of  general 
literature,  but  rather  oddly  selected,  as  will 
happen  where  one  makes  up  his  library  chiefly 
by  writing  book-notices :  Peter  Bayne's  Es- 
says; Coleridge;  the  first  volume  of  Masson's 
Life  of  Milton;  Vanity  Fair;  the  Dutch  Re- 
public ;  the  Plurality  of  Worlds ;  and  Momm- 
sen's  Rome.  That  very  attractive  book  in 
red  you  need  not  take  down ;  it  is  only  the 
history  of  Norwalk,  Conn.,  with  the  residence 
of  J.  T.  Wales,  Esq.,  for  a  frontispiece ;  the 
cover  is  all  there  is  to  it.  Finally,  there  are 
two  shelves  of  Patent  Office  Reports,  and  Perry's 
Expedition  to  Japan  with  a  panoramic  view  of 
Yeddo.  This  shows  that  the  minister  has  num- 
bered a  congressman  among  his  flock. 

It  is  here  that  Dr.  Parsons  is  diligently  en- 
gaged, this  cold  March  afternoon,  to  the  music 
of  his  crackling  air-tight  stove.  He  is  deeply  ab- 
sorbed in  his  task,  and  we  may  peep  in  and  not 
disturb  him.  He  has  a  large  number  of  books 
spread  out  before  him ;  but  looking  them  over, 


SAINT   PATRICK.  IO7 

we  miss  Lange's  Commentaries,  Bengel's  Gno- 
mon, Cobb  on  Galatians, —  those  safe  and  sound 
authorities  always  provided  with  the  correct 
view. 

The  books  which  lie  before  the  Doctor  seem 
all  to  deal  with  a  Romish  Saint,  and,  of  all 
the  saints  in  the  world,  Saint  Patrick.  In  full 
sight  of  his  own  steeple,  from  which  the  bell  is 
even  now  counting  out  the  sixty-nine  years  of 
a  good  brother  just  passed  away  in  hope  of 
a  Protestant  heaven,  —  tolling  out  the  years  for 
the  village  housewives,  who  pause  and  count; 
under  such  hallowing  influences,  —  beneath,  as 
it  were,  the  very  shadow  of  the  Missionary  Map 
and  the  Pauline  Chart,  and  with  a  gray  Jordan 
rushing  down  through  a  scarlet  Palestine  di- 
rectly before  him,  suggestive  of  all  good  things ; 
with  Knott  on  the  Fallacies  at  his  right  hand, 
and  with  Bowling  on  Romanism  on  his  left,  the 
Doctor  is  actually  absorbed  in  Papistical  litera- 
ture. Here  are  the  works  of  Dr.  Lanigan  and 
Father  Colgan  and  Monseigneur  Moran.  Here 
is  the  "  Life  and  Legends  of  Saint  Patrick,"  illus- 
trated, with  a  portrait  in  gilt  of  Brian  Boru  on 
the  cover.  Here  are  the  Tripartite  Life,  in  Latin, 


108  SAINT  PATRICK. 

and  the  saint's  Confession,  and  the  Epistle  to  Co- 
roticus,  the  Ossianic  Poems,  and  Miss  Cusack's 
magnificent  quarto,  which  the  Doctor  has  bor- 
rowed from  the  friendly  priest  at  the  factory 
village  four  miles  away,  who  borrowed  it  from 
the  library  of  the  Bishop  to  lend  to  him. 

Perhaps  you  have  never  undertaken  to  prepare 
a  life  of  Saint  Patrick.  If  so,  you  have  no  idea  of 
the  difficulties  of  the  task.  In  the  first  place,  you 
must  settle  the  question  whether  Saint  Patrick 
ever  existed.  And  this  is  a  disputed  point;  for 
while  there  are  those,  like  Father  Colgan,  whose 
clear  faith  accepts  Saint  Patrick  just  as  he  stands 
in  history  and  tradition,  yet,  on  the  other  hand, 
there  are  sceptics,  like  Ledwick,  who  contend 
that  the  saint  is  nothing  but  a  prehistoric  myth, 
floating  about  in  the  imagination  of  the  Irish 
people. 

Having  settled  to  your  satisfaction  that  Pat-  - 
rick  really  lived,  you  must  next  proceed  to  fix 
the  date  of  his  birth ;  and  here  you  enter  upon 
complicated  calculations.  You  will  probably 
decide  to  settle  first,  as  a  starting-point,  the  date 
of  the  saint's  escape  from  captivity;  and  to  do 


SAINT   PATRICK.  1 09 

this  you  will  have  to  reconcile  the  fact  that  after 
the  captivity  he  paid  a  friendly  visit  to  his 
kinsman,  Saint  Martin  of  Tours,  who  died  in 
397,  with  the  fact  that  he  was  not  captured 
until  400. 

Next  you  will  come  to  the  matter  of  the 
saint's  birthplace;  and  this  is  a  delicate  ques- 
tion, for  you  will  have  to  decide  between  the 
claims  of  Ireland,  of  Scotland,  and  of  France; 
and  you  will  very  probably  find  yourself  finally 
driven  to  the  conclusion  —  for  the  evidence 
points  that  way  —  that  Saint  Patrick  was  a 
Frenchman. 

•  Next  comes  the  question  of  the  saint's  length 
of  days ;  and  if  you  attempt  to  include  only  the 
incidents  of  his  life  of  which  there  can  be  no 
possible  doubt,  you  will  stretch  his  age  on  until 
you  will  probably  fix  it  at  one  hundred  and 
twenty  years. 

But  when  you  have  settled  the  existence,  the 
date  of  birth,  and  the  nationality  of  Saint  Pat- 
rick, you  are  still  only  upon  the  threshold  of 
your  inquiries;  for  you  next  find  before  you  for 
examination  a  vast  variety  of  miracles,  accredited 
to  him,  which  you  must  examine,  weeding  out 


HO  SAINT   PATRICK. 

such  as  are  puerile  and  are  manifestly  not  well 
established,  and   retaining  such   as   are   proved 
to   your   satisfaction.      You    will    be    struck    at 
once  with  the  novel  and  interesting  character  of 
some  of  them.     Prince   Caradoc   was   changed 
into  a  wolf.     An   Irish  magician  who  opposed 
the  saint  was  swallowed  by  the  earth  as  far  as 
his  ears,  and  then,  on  repentance,  was  instantly 
cast  forth  and  set  free.     An  Irish  pagan,  dead 
and    long   buried,   talked   freely  with    the   saint 
from  out  his  turf-covered  grave,  and  charitably 
explained  where  a  certain  cross  belonged  which 
had  been  set  by  mistake  over  him.     The  saint 
was  captured   once,  and  was  exchanged   for  a 
kettle,  which  thenceforth   froze  water   over  the 
fire  instead    of  boiling   it,   until   the   saint  was 
sent  back  and  the  kettle  returned.     Ruain,  son  of 
Cucnamha,  Amhalgaidh's  charioteer,  was  blind. 
He  went  in  haste  to  meet  Saint  Patrick,  to  be 
healed.     Mignag  laughed  at  him.     "  My  troth," 
said  Patrick,  "  it  would  be  fit  that  you  were  the 
blind   one."      The   blind   man  was   healed    and 
the  seeing  one  was  made  blind ;   Roi-Ruain  is  the 
name  of  the  place  where  this  was  done.    Patrick's 
charioteer  was   looking   for   his    horses    in  the 


SAINT   PATRICK.  Ill 

dark,  and  could  not  find  them ;  Patrick  lifted 
up  his  hand  ;  his  five  fingers  illuminated  the 
place  like  five  torches,  and  the  horses  were 
found. 

You  see  that  one  has  a  good  deal  to  go 
through  who  undertakes  to  prepare  a  life  of 
Saint  Patrick. 

But  our  thoughts  have  wandered  from  Dr. 
Parsons.  He  has  gathered  the  books  before  him 
with  great  pains,  from  public  and  private  libraries, 
and  he  religiously  meant  to  make  an  exhaustive 
study  of  them  all ;  but  sermons  and  parish  calls 
and  funerals,  and  that  little  affair  of  Mrs.  Samuel 
Nute,  have  forced  him,  by  a  process  of  which  we 
all  know  something,  to  forego  his  projected 
subsoil  ploughing  and  make  such  hasty  prepa- 
ration as  he  can. 

He  has  read  the  Confession  and  the  Epistle 
to  Coroticus,  and  he  has  glanced  over  the 
"  Life  and  Legends,"  reading  in  a  cursory  way 
of  the  leper's  miraculous  voyage  ;  of  the  fan- 
tastic snow;  of  the  tombstone  that  sailed  the 
seas ;  of  the  two  trout  that  Patrick  left  to  live 
forever  in  a  well,  — 


112  SAINT   PATRICK. 

"The  two  inseparable  trout, 
Which  would  advance  against  perpetual  streams, 
Without  obligation,  without  transgression  — 
Angels  will  be  along  with  them  in  it." 

And  being  very  fond  of  pure  water  himself,  the 
Doctor  is  touched  by  Patrick's  lament  when  far 
away  from  the  well  Uaran-gar :  — 

"  Uaran-gar,  Uaran-gar ! 
O  well,  which  I  have  loved,  which  lov£d  me ! 
Alas!  my  cry,  O  my  dear  God, 
That  my  drink  is  not  from  the  pure  well  of  Uaran-gar  ! " 

But  finally  he  has  settled  down,  as  most  casual 
students  will,  to  the  sincere  and  charming  little 
sketch  by  William  Bullen  Morris,  — "  Saint 
Patrick,  the  Apostle  of  Ireland."  He  is  reading 
it  now  by  the  east  window,  holding  the  book  at 
arm's-length,  as  is  his  wont. 

The  theme  is  new  to  him.  There  opens  up  a 
fresh  and  interesting  field.  The  dedication  of 
the  little  book  strikes  his  imagination :  "  To  the 
Members  of  the  Confraternity  of  Saint  Patrick, 
established  at  the  London  Oratory,  who,  with 
the  children  of  the  saint  in  many  lands,  are  the 
enduring  witnesses  of  the  faith  which  seeth  Him 
who  is  invisible." 


SAINT   PATRICK.  113 

He  is  interested  in  the  motto  on  the  .title- 
page, — '"En  un  mot,  on  y  voit  beaucoup  le  car- 
acttre  de  S.  Paul"  and  in  the  authorization,  — 
"  Nihil  obstat.  E.  S.  Keagh,  Cong.  Orat."  "  Im- 
primatur, >J<  Henricus  Eduardus,  Card." 

The  Doctor  looks  through  the  book  in  order. 
First,  the  introduction;  and  here  he  considers 
the  questions  —  First,  was  there  in  fact  such  a 
man  as  Saint  Patrick?  Second,  what  was  his 
nationality?  Third,  when  was  he  born:  and, 
herein,  does  the  date  of  his  escape  from  captivity 
conflict  with  the  date  of  his  visit  to  his  kinsman, 
Saint  Martin  of  Tours?  Fourth,  to  what  age 
did  he  live  ?  Fifth,  where  and  by  whom  was  he 
converted?  Sixth,  are  his  miracles  authentic? 
and  so  forth. 

After  this  introductory  study  the  book  takes 
up  the  saint's  life  in  connected  order.  Patrick 
was  the  son  of  a  Roman  decurio.  From  his 
earliest  days  wonders  attended  him.  When  he 
was  an  infant,  and  was  about  to  be  baptized,  it 
happened  that  no  water  was  to  be  had  for  the 
sacrament;  whereupon,  at  the  sign  of  the  cross, 
made  by  the  priest  with  the  infant's  hand  upon 
the  earth,  a  fountain  gushed  forth  from  the 
8 


114  SAINT   PATRICK. 

ground,  and  the  priest,  who  was  blind,  anoint- 
ing his  own  eyes  with  the  water,  received  his 
sight. 

As  Patrick  grew  older,  wonders  multiplied. 
He  came  as  an  apostle  of  the  faith  to  Strang- 
ford  Lough.  Dichu,  the  prince  of  that  prov- 
ince, forewarned  by  the  Druids,  raised  his  sword 
at  Patrick ;  but  instantly  his  hand  was  fixed  in 
the  air,  as  if  carved  of  stone ;  then  light  came 
to  Dichu's  soul,  and  from  a  foe  he  became  a 
loving  disciple. 

Then  comes  the  story  of  the  fast  upon  the 
mountain.  It  was  on  the  height  ever  since, 
called  Cruachan  Patrick,  which  looks  to  the 
north  upon  Clew  Bay,  and  to  the  west  on  the 
waters  of  the  Atlantic.  It  was  Shrove  Saturday, 
a  year  and  a  little  more  from  the  apostle's  first 
landing  in  Ireland.  Already  he  had  carried  the 
gospel  from  the  eastern  to  the  western  sea. 
But  his  spirit  longed  for  the  souls  of  the  whole 
Irish  nation.  Upon  the  mountain  he  knelt  in 
prayer,  and  as  he  prayed,  his  faith  and  his  de- 
mands assumed  gigantic  proportions.  An  angel 
came  down  and  addressed  him.  God  could 
not  grant  his  requests,  the  message  ran,  they 


SAINT  PATRICK.  115 

were  too  great.  "  Is  that  his  decision?  "  asked 
Patrick.  "  It  is,"  said  the  angel.  "  It  may  be 
his,"  said  Patrick,  "  it  is  not  mine ;  for  my 
decision  is  not  to  leave  this  cruachan  until  my 
demands  are  granted." 

The  angel  departed.  For  forty  days  and 
forty  nights  Patrick  fasted  and  prayed  amid 
sore  temptations.  The  blessing  must  fall  upon 
all  his  poor  people  of  Erin.  As  he  prayed,  he 
wept,  and  his  cowl  was  drenched  with  his  tears. 

At  last  the  angel  returned  and  proposed  a 
compromise.  The  vast  Atlantic  lay  before 
them.  Patrick  might  have  as  many  souls  as 
would  cover  its  expanse  as  far  as  his  eyes  could 
reach.  But  he  was  not  satisfied  with  that;  his 
eyes,  he  said,  could  not  reach  very  far  over 
those  heaving  waters ;  he  must  have,  in  addi- 
tion, a  multitude  vast  enough  to  cover  the  land 
that  lay  between  him  and  the  sea.  The  angel 
yielded,  and  now  bade  him  leave  the  mountain. 
But  Patrick  would  not.  "  I  have  been  tor- 
mented," he  said,  "  and  I  must  be  gratified  ;  and 
unless  my  prayers  are  granted  I  will  not  leave 
this  cruachan  while  I  live ;  and  after  my  death 
there  shall  be  here  a  care-taker  for  me." 


Il6  SAINT   PATRICK. 

The  angel  departed.  Patrick  went  to  his 
offering. 

At  evening  the  angel  returned.  "  How  am  I 
answered  ? "  asked  Patrick.  "  Thus,"  said  the 
angel :  "  all  creatures,  visible  and  invisible,  in- 
cluding the  Twelve  Apostles,  have  entreated 
for  thee, —  and  they  have  obtained.  Strike  thy 
bell  and  fall  upon  thy  knees:  for  the  blessing 
shall  be  on  all  Erin,  both  living  and  dead." 
"  A  blessing  on  the  bountiful  King  that  hath 
given,"  said  Patrick ;  "  now  will  I  leave  the 
cruachan." 

It  was  on  Holy  Thursday  that  he  came  down 
from  the  mountain  and  returned  to  his  people. 


III. 

ONE  afternoon  at  about  this  time  you  might 
have  seen  Mr.  Cole,  the  missionary  of  the  Day- 
Star,  —  a  small,  lithe  man,  with  a  red  beard,  — 
making  his  way  up  town.  He  walked  rapidly, 
as  he  always  did,  for  he  was  a  busy  man. 

He  was  an  exceedingly  busy  man.  During 
the  past  year,  as  was  shown  by  his  printed  re- 
port, he  had  made  2,014  calls,  or  five  and  one- 


SAINT   PATRICK.  II? 

half  calls  a  day ;  he  had  read  the  Scriptures  in 
families  792  times;  he  had  distributed  931,456 
pages  of  religious  literature ;  he  had  conversed 
on  religious  topics  with  3,918  persons,  or  ten 
and  seven-tenths  persons  per  day,  Sabbaths  in- 
cluded. It  was  perhaps  because  he  was  so  busy 
that  there  was  complaint  sometimes  that  he 
mixed  matters  and  took  things  upon  his  shoul- 
ders which  belonged  to  others. 

Mr.  Cole's  rapid  pace  soon  brought  him  to  a 
broad  ,and  pleasant  cross-street ;  he  went  up  the 
high  steps  of  one  of  the  houses,  rang  the  bell, 
and  was  admitted. 

Rev.  Mr.  Martin  was  in  his  study,  and  the 
missionary  was  shown  up.  Precisely  what  the 
conversation  was  has  not  been  reported ;  but 
certain  it  is  that  the  next  day  after  Mr.  Cole's 
call,  Mr.  Martin  began  to  prepare  himself  for  an 
address  upon  the  life  of  Saint  Patrick.  It  was 
an  entirely  new  topic  to  him  ;  but  he  soon  found 
himself  in  the  full  current  of  the  stream,  consid- 
ering—  First,  did  such  a  man  really  exist,  or  is 
Saint  Patrick  a  mere  myth,  floating  in  the  im- 
agination of  the  Irish  people?  Second,  what 
was  his  nationality?  Third,  where  was  he  born, 


Il8  SAINT  PATRICK. 

and,  herein,  how  are  we  to  reconcile  his  escape 
from  captivity  in  493,  with  his  visit  to  his  kins- 
man, Saint  Martin  of  Tours,  after  his  escape 
from  captivity,  in  490?  Fourth,  to  what  age  did 
he  live  ?  Fifth,  —  and  so  forth. 

Mr.  Martin  had  begun  his  labors  by  taking 
down  his  encyclopaedia  and  such  books  of  ref- 
erence as  he  had  thought  could  help  him,  and 
had  succeeded  so  far  as  to  get  an  outline  of 
the  saint's  life,  and  to  find  mention  of  several 
works  which  treated  of  this  topic.  There  were 
Montalembert's  "  Monks  of  the  West,"  and  Dr. 
O'Donovan's  "  Annals  of  the  Four  Masters,"  the 
works  of  Monseigneur  Moran  and  Father  Colgan, 
the  Tripartite  Life,  and  a  certain  "  magnificent 
quarto  "  by  Miss  Cusack.  All  these  and  many 
more  he  had  hoped  to  find  in  the  different 
libraries  of  the  city.  But  great  had  been  his 
surprise,  on  visiting  the  libraries,  ta  find  that  the 
books  he  wanted  were  invariably  out.  It  was  a 
little  startling,  at  first,  to  come  upon  this  foot- 
print in  the  sand ;  but  a  little  reflection  set  the 
feeling  at  rest.  The  subject  was  an  odd  one 
to  him,  to  be  sure,  but  there  were  thousands  of 
people  in  the  city  who  might  very  naturally  be 


SAINT   PATRICK. 

concerned  in  it,  particularly  at  this  time,  when 
Saint  Patrick's  Day  was  approaching.  None 
the  less  the  fact  remained  that  the  books  he 
wanted  —  scattered  through  two  or  three  libra- 
ries —  were  always  out. 

As  he  stepped  out  from  the  Free  Library  into 
the  street,  it  occurred  to  him  to  go  to  a  Catho- 
lic bookstore  near  at  hand  to  look  for  what  he 
wanted. 

It  was  a  large,  showy  shop,  with  Virgins  and 
crucifixes  and  altar  candelabras  in  the  windows, 
and  pictures  of  bleeding  hearts.  He  went  in 
and  stood  at  the  counter.  A  rosy-faced  servant- 
girl,  with  a  shy,  pleased  expression,  was  mak- 
ing choice  of  a  rosary.  A  young  priest,  a  few 
steps  away,  was  looking  at  an  image  of  Saint 
Joseph. 

The  salesman  left  the  servant-girl  to  her  hesi- 
tating choice,  and  turned  to  Mr.  Martin. 

"What  have  you,"  asked  Mr.  Martin,  with  a 
slightly  conscious  tone,  "  upon  the  life  of  Saint 
Patrick?" 

The  priest  turned  and  looked ;  but  the  sales- 
man, with  an  unmoved  countenance,  went  to  the 
shelves  and  selected  two  volumes  and  laid  them 


I2O  SAINT  PATRICK. 

in  silence  on  the  counter.  One  was  the  "Life 
and  Legends  of  Saint  Patrick  "  with  a  picture 
in  gilt  of  Brian  Boru  on  the  cover.  The  other 
was  "  Saint  Patrick,  the  Apostle  of  Ireland,"  by 
William  Bullen  Morris,  Priest  of  the  Oratory. 
They  were  both  green-covered. 

Early  in  the  evening  Mr.  Martin  settled  down 
by  his  study  fire  to  his  new  purchases.  First 
he  took  up  the  "  Life  and  Legends."  He  read 
the  saint's  own  Confession,  and  the  Letter  to  Co- 
roticus,  and  looked  through  the  translation  of  the 
Tripartite  Life,  with  its  queer  mixture  of  Latin 
and  English :  "  Prima  feria  venit  Patricius  ad  Tal- 
leriam,  where  the  regal  assembly  was,  to  Cairpre, 
the  son  of  Niall."  "  Interrogat  autem  Patricius 
qua  causa  venit  Conall,  and  Conall  related  the 
reason  to  Patrick." 

He  glanced  over  the  miracles  and  wonders 
of  which  this  book  was  full.  But  before  very 
long  he  laid  it  aside  and  took  up  the  Life  by 
William  Bullen  Morris,  Priest  of  the  Oratory, 
and  decided  that  he  must  depend  upon  that  for 
his  preparation. 

It  was  late  at  night.     It  was  full  time  to  stop 


SAINT   PATRICK.  121 

reading ;  but  it  laid  strong  hold  of  his  imagina- 
tion,—  this  strange,  intense,  and  humorous  figure, 
looming  up  all  new  to  him  from  the  mists  of  the 
past.  He  read  the  book  to  the  end  ;  he  read  how 
the  good  Saint  Bridget  foretold  the  apostle's 
death;  how  two  provinces  contended  for  his 
remains,  and  how  a  light  shone  over  his  burial- 
place  after  he  was  laid  to  rest. 

It  was  very  late  when  Mr.  Martin  finished 
the  book  and  laid  it  down. 

Thus  it  happens  that  the  Rev.  Dr.  Parsons 
and  the  Rev.  Mr.  Martin  are  both  preparing 
themselves  at  the  same  time  on  the  life  of 
Saint  Patrick,  from  this  one  brief  book  by  Wil- 
liam Bullen  Morris,  Priest  of  the  Oratory. 


IV. 

SAINT  PATRICK'S  DAY  has  come  and  is  now  fast 
waning.  The  sun  has  sunk  behind  the  chimney- 
stack  of  the  New  Albion  dance-hall ;  the  street 
lamps  are  lighted  and  are  faintly  contending 
against  the  dull  glow  of  the  late  afternoon. 

There  is  a  lull  between  day  and  evening.    All 


122  SAINT   PATRICK. 

day  there  has  been  a  stir  in  the  city.  There  has 
been  a  procession  in  green  sashes,  with  harps 
on  the  banners, —  a  long  procession,  in  bar 
rouches,  on  horseback,  and  afoot.  There  have 
been  impassioned  addresses  before  the  Hiber- 
nian Society  and  the  Saint  Peter's  Young  Men's 
Irish  Catholic  Benevolent  Association.  There 
has  been  more  or  less  celebration  in  Ship 
Street. 

The  evening  advances.  It  is  seven  o'clock. 
Strains  of  invitation  issue  from  all  the  dance- 
halls.  Already  the  people  have  begun  to  file 
in  to  the  Day-Star  Mission.  The  audience-room 
is  on  the  street  floor.  The  missionary  stands  at 
the  open  door,  with  anxious  smiles,  urging  de- 
corum. A  knot  of  idlers  on  each  side  of  the 
doorway,  on  the  sidewalk,  comment  freely  on 
him  and  on  those  who  enter.  Every  moment 
or  two  a  policeman  forces  them  back. 

At  a  quarter  of  seven  a  preliminary  praise- 
meeting  begins.  Singing  from  within  jars 
against  the  fiddling  from  over  the  way.  You 
hear  at  once  "  Come  to  Jesus  just  now !  "  and 
"  Old  Dan  Tucker." 

Already  the  seats  are  filled,  —  eight  in  a  settee ; 


SAINT   PATRICK.  123 

those  who  come  now  will  have  to  stand.  Still, 
people  continue  to  file  in :  laborers,  Portuguese 
sewing-women,  two  or  three  firemen  in  long- 
tailed  coats  and  silver  buttons,  from  Hook  and 
Ladder  Six,  in  the  next  block  ;  gross-looking 
women,  habitues  of  the  Mission,  with  children; 
women  who  are  habitues  of  no  mission ;  pros- 
perous saloon-keepers ;  one  of  the  councilmen 
of  the  ward,  —  he  is  a  saloon-keeper  too. 

Dr.  Parsons's  train  brought  him  to  town  in 
good  season.  He  passed  in  with  other  invited 
guests  at  the  private  door,  and  he  has  been  upon 
the  platform  for  ten  minutes.  His  daughter  is 
beside  him ;  ten  or  a  dozen  of  his  parishioners, 
who  have  come  too,  occupy  seats  directly  in 
front. 

The  platform  seats  are  nearly  all  taken ;  it  is 
time  to  begin.  The  street-door  opens  and  a 
passage  is  made  for  a  new-comer.  It  is  Mr. 
Martin.  A  contingent  from  his  church  come 
with  him  and  fill  the  few  chairs  that  are  still 
reserved  about  the  desk. 

Now  all  would  appear  to  be  ready ;  but  there 
is  still  a  few  moments'  pause.  The  mission- 
ary is  probably  completing  some  preliminary 


124  SAINT   PATRICK. 

arrangements.  The  audience  sit  in  stolid 
expectation. 

Dr.  Parsons,  from  beneath  his  eyebrows,  is 
studying  the  faces  before  him.  In  this  short 
time  his  address  has  entirely  changed  form  in 
his  mind.  It  was  simple  as  he  had  planned  it; 
it  must  be  simpler  yet.  But  he  has  felt  the 
pulse  of  the  people  before  him.  He  feels  that 
he  can  hold  them,  that  he  can  stir  them. 

Meanwhile  a  whispered  colloquy  is  going  on,  at 
the  rear  of  the  platform,  between  the  missionary 
and  the  chairman  of  the  committee  for  the  even- 
ing. The  missionary  appears  to  be  explanatory 
and  apologetic,  the  chairman  flushed.  In  a  mo- 
ment a  hand  is  placed  on  Dr.  Parsons's  shoulder. 
He  starts,  half  rises,  and  turns  abruptly. 

There  has  been,  it  seems,  an  unfortunate  mis- 
understanding. Through  some  mistake  Mr. 
Martin  has  been  asked  to  make  the  address 
upon  the  life  of  Saint  Patrick,  and  has  pre- 
pared himself  with  care.  He  is  one  of  the 
Mission's  most  influential  friends ;  his  church  is 
among  its  chief  benefactors.  It  is  an  exceed- 
ingly painful  affair;  but  will  Dr.  Parsons  give 
way  to  Mr.  Martin? 


SAINT   PATRICK.  125 

So  it  is  all  over.  The  Doctor  takes  his  seat 
and  looks  out  again  upon  those  hard,  dreary 
faces,  —  his  no  longer.  He  has  not  realized 
until  now  how  he  has  been  looking  forward  to 
this  evening.  But  the  vision  has  fled.  No  rip- 
ples of  uncouth  laughter,  no  ready  tears.  No 
reaching  these  dull,  violated  hearts  through 
the  Saint  whom  they  adore:  that  privilege  is 
another's. 

But  the  chairman  again  draws  near.  Will 
Dr.  Parsons  make  the  opening  prayer? 

The  Doctor  bows  assent.  He  folds  his  arms 
and  closes  his  eyes.  You  can  see  that  he  is  try- 
ing to  concentrate  his  thoughts  in  preparation 
for  prayer.  It  is  doubtless  hard  to  divert  them 
from  the  swift  channel  in  which  they  have  been 
bounding  along. 

Now  all  is  ready.  The  missionary  touches  a 
bell,  the  signal  for  silence. 

The  Doctor  rises.  For  a  moment  he  stands 
looking  over  the  rows  on  rows  of  hardened 
faces,  —  looking  on  those  whom  he  has  so 
longed  to  reach.  He  raises  his  hand ;  there 
is  a  dead  silence,  and  he  begins. 

It  was  inevitable,  at  the  outset,  that  he  should 


126  SAINT   PATRICK. 

refer  to  the  occasion  which  had  brought  us 
together.  It  was  natural  to  recall  that  we  were 
come  to  celebrate  the  birth  of  an  uncommon 
man.  It  was  natural  to  suggest  that  he  was 
no  creature  of  story  or  ancient  legend,  floating 
about  in  the  imagination  of  an  ignorant  people, 
but  a  real  man  like  us,  of  flesh  and  blood.  It  was 
natural  to  add  that  he  was  a  man  born  centuries 
ago ;  that  the  scene  of  his  labors  was  the  green 
island  across  the  sea,  where  many  of  us  now 
present  had  first  seen  the  light.  It  was  natural 
to  give  thanks  for  that  godly  life  which  had  led 
three  nations  to  claim  the  good  man's  birth- 
place. It  was  natural  to  suggest  that  if  about 
the  sweet  memories  of  this  man's  life  fancy  had 
fondly  woven  countless  legends,  we  might,  with 
a  discerning  eye,  read  in  them  all  the  saintly 
power  of  the  man  of  God.  What  though  his 
infant  hand  may  not  have  caused  earthly 
waters  to  gush  from  the  ground  and  heal  the 
blindness  of  the  ministering  priest,  neverthe- 
less doth  childhood  ever  call  forth  a  well-spring 
of  life,  giving  fresh  sight  to  the  blind,  —  to 
teacher  and  taught. 

But  why  go  on?     Who  has  not  heard,  again 


SAINT   PATRICK.  127 

and  again,  the  old-fashioned  prayer  wherein  all 
is  laid  forth,  in  outline,  but  with  distinctness ! 
We  give  thanks  for  this.  May  this  be  impressed 
upon  our  hearts.  May  this  lead  us  solemnly 
to  reflect. 

The  heart  that  is  full  must  overflow,  —  if  not 
in  one  way,  then  in  another. 

Mr.  Martin  has  not  been  told  about  Dr.  Par- 
sons. He  sits  and  listens  as  the  Doctor  goes 
on  in  the  innocence  of  his  heart,  pouring  forth 
with  warmth  and  fervor  the  life  of  the  saint 
according  to  William  Bullen  Morris,  Priest  of 
the  Oratory,  —  pouring  forth  in  unmistakable 
detail  Mr.  Martin's  projected  discourse. 

The  prayer  is  ended;  a  hymn  is  sung,  and 
then  the  missionary  presents  to  the  audience 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Martin,  whom  they  are  always 
delighted  to  hear;  he  will  now  address  them 
upon  the  life  of  Saint  Patrick. 

Mr.  Martin  rises.  He  takes  a  sip  of  water. 
He  coughs  slightly.  He  passes  his  handker- 
chief across  his  lips.  So  far  all  is  well.  But 
the  prayer  is  in  his  mind.  Moreover,  he  un- 
fortunately catches  his  wife's  eye,  with  a  sug- 
gestion of  suppressed  merriment  in  it. 


128  SAINT   PATRICK. 

What  does  he  say?  What  can  he  say? 
There  are  certain  vague  lessons  from  the  saint's 
virtues ;  some  applications  of  what  the  Doctor 
has  set  forth;  that  is  all.  Saint  Patrick  was 
sober ;  we  should  be  sober.  Saint  Patrick  was 
kind ;  we  should  be  kind. 

Even  his  own  parishioners  admitted  that  he 
had  not  been  "  happy "  on  this  particular 
occasion. 

But  at  the  close  of  the  meeting  Dr.  Parsons 
received  a  compliment.  As  he  descended  from 
the  platform,  Mr.  John  Keenan,  who  kept 
the  best-appointed  bar-room  on  the  street, 
advanced  to  meet  him.  Mr.  Keenan  was  in 
an  exceedingly  happy  frame  of  mind.  He 
grasped  the  Doctor's  hand.  "  I  wish,  sir,"  he 
said,  with  a  fine  brogue,  "  to  congratulate  you 
upon  your  very  eloquent  prayer.  It  remind 
me,  sir,  —  and  I  take  pleasure  to  say  it,  —  it 
remind  me,  sir,  of  the  Honorable  John  Kelly's 
noble  oration  on  Daniel  O'Connell." 

Late  that  evening  the  Doctor  stood  at  his 
study-window,  looking  out  for  a  moment  before 


SAINT   PATRICK.  I2Q 

retiring  to  rest.  There  was  no  light  in  the 
room,  and  the  maps  and  the  charts  and  the  tall 
book-shelves  were  only  outlines.  There  was 
a  glimmer  from  a  farm-house  two  miles  away, 
where  they  were  watching  with  the  dead. 

The  Doctor's  daughter  came  in  with  a  light 
in  her  hand  to  bid  her  father  good-night. 

"What  did  you  think,  Pauline,"  he  said  to 
her,  "of  Mr.  Martin's  talk?"  It  had  not  been 
mentioned  till  now. 

Pauline  hardly  knew  what  to  think.  She 
knew  that  it  was  not  what  the  Rev.  Dr.  Parsons 
would  have  given  them !  But,  honestly,  what 
did  her  father  think  of  it? 

The  Doctor  mused  for  a  moment;  then  he 
gave  his  judgment.  "  I  think,"  he  said,  "  that 
it  showed  a  certain  lack  of  preparation." 


ELI. 
I. 

T  TNDER  a  boat,  high  and  dry  at  low  tide, 
^  on  the  beach,  John  Wood  was  seated  in 
the  sand,  sheltered  from  the  sun  in  the  boat's 
shadow,  absorbed  in  the  laying  on  of  verdigris. 
The  dull,  worn  color  was  rapidly  giving  place 
to  a  brilliant,  shining  green.  Occasionally  a 
scraper,  which  lay  by,  was  taken  up  to  remove 
the  last  trace  of  a  barnacle. 

It  was  Wood's  boat,  but  he  was  not  a  boat- 
man; he  painted  cleverly,  but  he  was  not  a 
painter.  He  kept  the  brown  store  under  the 
elms  of  the  main  street,  now  hot  and  still,  where 
at  this  moment  his  blushing  sister  was  capti- 
vating the  heart  of  an  awkward  farmer's  boy  as 
she  sold  him  a  pair  of  striped  suspenders. 

As  the  church  clock  struck  the  last  of  twelve 
decided  blows,  three  children  came  rushing  out 


ELI.  131 

of  the  house  on  the  bank  above  the  beach.  It 
was  one  of  those  deceptive  New  England  cot- 
tages, weather-worn  without,  but  bright  and 
bountifully  home-like  within,  —  with  its  trim  par- 
lor, proud  of  a  cabinet  organ;  with  its  front 
hall,  now  cooled  by  the  light  sea-breeze  drifting 
through  the  blind-door,  where  a  tall  clock  issued 
its  monotonous  call  to  a  siesta  on  the  rattan 
lounge;  with  its  spare  room,  open  now,  oppo- 
site the  parlor,  and  now,  too,  drawing  in  the 
salt  air  through  close-shut  blinds,  in  anticipation 
of  the  joyful  arrival  this  evening  of  Sister  Sarah, 
with  her  little  brood,  from  the  city. 

The  children  scampered  across  the  road,  and 
then  the  eldest  hushed  the  others  and  sent  a 
little  brother  ahead  to  steal,  barefoot,  along  the 
shining  sea-weed  to  his  father. 

The  plotted  surprise  appeared  to  succeed 
completely.  The  painter  was  seized  by  the  ears 
from  behind,  and  captured. 

"  Guess  who  's  here,  or  you  can't  get  up," 
said  the  infant  captor. 

"  It 's  Napoleon  Bonaparte ;  don't  joggle," 
said  his  father,  running  a  brush  steadily  along 
the  water-line. 


132  ELI. 

"  No  !  no  !  no  !  "  with  shouts  of  laughter  from 
the  whole  attacking  party. 

"  Then  it 's  Captain  Ezekiel.  " 

This  excited  great  merriment:  Captain  Eze- 
kiel was  an  aged,  purblind  man,  who  leaned  on 
a  cane. 

After  attempts  to  identify  the  invader  —  with 
the  tax-collector  come  for  taxes,  then  with  the 
elderly  minister  making  a  pastoral  call,  with  the 
formal  schoolmaster,  and  with  Samuel  J.  Tilden 
—  the  victim  reached  over  his  shoulder,  and, 
seizing  the  assailant  by  a  handful  of  calico 
jacket,  brought  him  around,  squirming,  before 
him. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  "  I  '11  give  you  a  coat  of 
verdigris.  (Great  applause  from  the  reserve 
force  behind.) 

"  I  suppose  Mother  sent  you  to  say  dinner 's 
ready,"  said  the  father,  rising  and  surveying 
the  green  bottom  of  the  boat.  "  I  must  eat 
quick,  so  as  to  do  the  other  side  before  half- 
flood." 

And  with  a  child  on  each  shoulder,  and  the 
third  pushing  him  from  behind  with  her  head, 
he  marched  toward  the  vine-covered  kitchen, 


ELI.  133 

where,  between  two  opposite  netted  doors,  the 
table  was  trimly  set. 

"  Father,  you  look  like  a  mermaid,  with  your 
green  hands,"  said  his  wife,  laughing,  as  she 
handed  him  the  spirits  of  turpentine.  "  A 
woman  could  paint  that  boat,  in  a  light  dress, 
and  not  get  a  spot  on  her." 

He  smiled  good-naturedly:  he  never  spoke 
much. 

"  I  guess  Louise  won't  have  much  trade  to- 
day," said  his  wife,  as  they  all  sat  down ;  "  it 's  so 
hot  in  the  sun  that  everybody  '11  wait  till  night. 
But  she  has  her  tatting-work  to  do,  and  she  's  got 
a  book,  too,  that  she  wanted  to  finish." 

Her  husband  nodded,  and  ate  away. 

"  Oh,  can't  we  go  up  street  and  see  her,  this 
afternoon?"  said  one  of  the  children. 

"  Who  can  that  be?"  said  the  mother,  as  an 
elderly,  half-official-looking  man  stopped  his 
horse  at  the  front  gate  and  alighted.  The  man 
left  the  horse  unchecked  to  browse  by  the  road- 
side, and  came  to  the  door. 

"  Oh,  it 's  you,  Captain  Nourse,"  said  Wood, 
rising  to  open  the  netting  door,  and  holding  out 
his  hand.  "  Come  to  summons  me  as  a  witness 


134  ELI. 

in  something  about  the  bank  case,  I  suppose. 
Let  me  introduce  Captain  Nourse,  Mary,"  he 
said,  "  deputy  sheriff.  Sit  down,  Captain,  and 
have  some  dinner  with  us." 

"  No,  I  guess  I  won't  set,"  said  the  captain. 
"  I  cal'lated  not  to  eat  till  I  got  home,  in  the 
middle  o'  the  afternoon.  No,  I  '11  set  down  in 
eye-shot  of  the  mare,  and  read  the  paper  while 
you  eat." 

"  I  hope  they  don't  want  me  to  testify  any- 
where to-day,"  said  Wood ;  "  because  my  boat  's 
half  verdigris'd,  and  I  want  to  finish  her  this 
afternoon." 

"  No  testimony  to-day,"  said  the  captain. 
"  Hi !  hi !  Kitty !  "  he  called  to  the  mare,  as  she 
began  to  meander  across  the  road ;  and  he  went 
out  to  a  tree  by  the  front  fence,  and  sat  down 
on  a  green  bench,  beside  a  work-basket  and  a 
half-finished  child's  dress,  and  read  the  country 
paper  which  he  had  taken  from  the  office  as  he 
came  along. 

After  dinner  Wood  went  out  bareheaded,  and 
leaned  on  the  fence  by  the  captain.  His  wife 
stood  just  inside  the  door,  looking  out  at  them. 

The  "  bank  case "  was  the  great  sensation  of 


ELI.  135 

the  town,  and  Wood  was  one  of  the  main  wit- 
nesses, for  he  had  been  taking  the  place  of 
the  absent  cashier  when  the  safe  was  broken 
open  and  rifled  to  the  widespread  distress  of 
depositors  and  stockholders,  and  the  ruin  of 
Hon.  Edward  Clark,  the  president.  Wood  had 
locked  the  safe  on  the  afternoon  before  the 
eventful  night,  and  had  carried  home  the  key 
with  him,  and  he  was  to  testify  to  the  contents 
of  the  safe  as  he  had  left  it. 

"I  guess  they're  glad  they've  got  such  a 
witness  as  John,"  said  his  wife  to  herself,  as 
she  looked  at  him  fondly,  "  and  I  guess  they 
think  there  won't  be  much  doubt  about  what 
he  says." 

"  Well,  Captain,"  said  Wood,  jocosely,  break- 
ing a  spear  of  grass  to  bits  in  his  fingers,  "  I 
did  n't  know  but  you  'd  come  to  arrest  me." 

The  captain  calmly  smiled  as  only  a  man  can 
smile  who  has  been  accosted  with  the  same 
humorous  remark  a  dozen  times  a  day  for 
twenty  years.  He  folded  his  paper  carefully, 
put  it  in  his  pocket,  took  off  his  spectacles 
and  put  them  in  their  silver  case,  took  a  red 
silk  handkerchief  from  his  hat,  wiped  his  face, 


1 36  ELI. 

and  put  the  handkerchief  back.  Then  he  said 
shortly,  — 

"  That's  what  I  have  come  for." 

Wood,  still  leaning  on  the  fence,  looked  at 
him,  and  said  nothing. 

"  That 's  just  what  I  Ve  come  for,"  said  Cap- 
tain Nourse.  "  I  Ve  got  to  arrest  you  ;  here 's 
the  warrant."  And  he  handed  it  to  him. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  said  Wood.  "I 
can't  make  head  or  tail  of  this." 

"  Well,"  said  the  captain,  "  the  long  and  short 
is,  these  high-toned  detectives  that  they  Ve  hed 
down  from  town,  seein'  as  our  own  force  was  n't 
good  enough,  allow  that  the  safe  was  unlocked 
with  a  key,  in  due  form,  and  then  the  lock  was 
broke  afterward,  to  look  as  if  it  had  been  forced 
open.  They  Ve  hed  the  foreman  of  the  safe- 
men  down,  too,  and  he  says  the  same  thing. 
Naturally,  the  argument  is,  there  was  only 
two  keys  in  existence,  —  one  was  safe  with  the 
president  of  the  bank,  and  is  about  all  he  's  got 
to  show  out  of  forty  years'  savings ;  the  only 
other  one  you  hed :  consequently,  it  heaves  it 
onto  you." 

"  I  see,"  said  Wood.     "  I  will    go  with  you. 


ELI.  137 

Do  you  want  to  come  into  the  house  with  me 
while  I  get  my  coat?" 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  must  keep  you  in  sight,  — 
now  you  know." 

And  they  went  into  the  house. 

"  Mary,"  said  her  husband,  "  the  folks  that 
lost  by  Clark  when  the  bank  broke  have  been 
at  him  until  he  's  felt  obliged  to  pitch  on  some- 
body, and  he 's  pitched  on  me ;  and  Captain 
Nourse  has  come  to  arrest  me.  I  shall  get  bail 
before  long." 

She  said  nothing,  and  did  not  shed  a  tear  till 
he  was  gone. 

But  then  — 


II. 

WIDE  wastes  of  salt-marsh  to  the  right,  im- 
prisoning the  upland  with  a  vain  promise  of 
infinite  liberty,  and,  between  low,  distant  sand- 
hills, a  rim  of  sea.  Stretches  of  pine  woods  be- 
hind, shutting  in  from  the  great  outer  world,  and 
soon  to  darken  into  evening  gloom.  Ploughed 
fields  and  elm-dotted  pastures  to  the  left,  and 
birch-lined  roads  leading  by  white  farm-houses 


138  ELI. 

to  the  village,  all  speaking  of  cheer  and  free- 
dom to  the  prosperous  and  the  happy,  but  to 
the  unfortunate  and  the  indebted,  of  meshes 
invisible  but  strong  as  steel.  But,  before,  no 
lonesome  marshes,  no  desolate  forest,  no  farm 
or  village  street,  but  the  free  blue  ocean,  roll- 
ing and  tumbling  still  from  the  force  of  an 
expended  gale. 

In  the  open  doorway  of  a  little  cottage, 
warmed  by  the  soft  slanting  rays  of  the  Sep- 
tember sun,  a  rough  man,  burnt  and  freckled, 
was  sitting,  at  his  feet  a  net,  engaged  upon 
some  handiwork  which  two  little  girls  were 
watching.  Close  by  him  lay  a  setter,  his  nose 
between  his  paws.  Occasionally  the  man  raised 
his  eyes  to  scan  the  sea. 

"  There  's  Joel,"  he  said,  "  comin'  in  around 
the  Bar.  Not  much  air  stirrin'  now ! " 

Then  he  turned  to  his  work  again. 

"  First,  you  go  so  fash',"  he  said  to  the  chil- 
dren, as  he  drew  a  thread ;  "  then  you  go  so 
fash'." 

And  as  he  worked  he  made  a  great  show  of 
labor,  much  to  their  diversion. 

But  the  sight  of  Joel's  broad  white  sail  had 


ELI.  139 

not  brought  pleasant  thoughts  to  his  mind; 
for  Joel  had  hailed  him,  off  the  Shoal,  the 
afternoon  before,  and  had  obligingly  offered 
to  buy  his  fish  right  there,  and  so  let  him  go 
directly  home,  omitting  to  mention  that  sudden 
jump  of  price  due  to  an  empty  market. 

"  Wonder  what  poor  man  he  's  took  a  dollar 
out  of  to-day!  Well,  I  s'pose  it's. all  right: 
those  that 's  got  money,  want  money." 

"What  be  you,  Eli  —  ganging  on  hooks?" 
said  Aunt  Patience,  as  she  tiptoed  into  the 
kitchen  behind  him,  from  his  wife's  sick-room, 
and  softly  closed  the  door  after  her. 

"  No,"  said  the  elder  of  the  children ;  "  he  's 
mending  our  stockings,  and  showing  me  how." 

"Well,  you  do  have  a  hard  time,  don't  you?  " 
said  Aunt  Patience,  looking  down  over  his 
shoulder;  "  to  slave  and  tug  and  scrape  to  get 
a  house  over  your  head,  and  then  to  have  to 
turn  square  'round,  and  stay  to  home  with  a  sick 
woman,  and  eat  all  into  it  with  mortgages !  " 

"  Oh,  well,"  he  said,  "  we  '11  fetch,  somehow." 

Aunt  Patience  went  to  the  glass,  and  holding 
a  black  pin  in  her  mouth,  carefully  tied  the 
strings  of  her  sun-bonnet. 


140  ELI. 

"  Anyway,"  she  says,  "  you  take  it  good- 
natured.  Though  if  there  is  one  thing  that 's 
harder  than  another,  it  is  to  be  good-natured 
all  the  time,  without  being  aggravating.  I  have 
known  men  that  was  so  awfully  good-natured 
that  they  was  harder  to  live  with  than  if  they 
was  cross !  " 

And  without  specifying  further,  she  opened 
her  plaid  parasol  and  stepped  out  at  the 
porch. 

Though,  on  this  quiet  afternoon  of  Saturday, 
the  peace  of  the  approaching  Sabbath  seemed 
already  brooding  over  the  little  dwelling,  peace 
had  not  lent  her  hand  to  the  building  of  the 
home.  Every  foot  of  land,  every  shingle,  every 
nail,  had  been  wrung  from  the  reluctant  sea. 
Every  voyage  had  contributed  something.  It 
was  a  great  day  when  Eli  was  able  to  buy  the 
land.  Then,  between  two  voyages,  he  dug  a 
cellar  and  laid  a  foundation ;  then  he  saved 
enough  to  build  the  main  part  of  the  cottage 
and  to  finish  the  front  room,  lending  his  own 
hand  to  the  work.  Then  he  used  to  get  letters 
at  every  port,  telling  of  progress, —  how  Lizzie, 


ELI.  141 

his  wife,  had  adorned  the  front  room  with  a 
bright  ninepenny  paper,  of  which  a  little  piece 
was  enclosed,  —  which  he  kept  as  a  sort  of  charm 
about  him  and  exhibited  to  his  friends;  how 
she  and  her  little  brother  had  lathed  the  entry 
and  the  kitchen,  and  how  they  had  set  out 
blackberry  vines  from  the  woods.  Then  an- 
other letter  told  of  a  surprise  awaiting  him  on 
his  return;  and,  in  due  time,  coming  home 
as  third  mate  from  Hong-Kong  to  a  sea- 
man's tumultuous  welcome,  he  had  found  that 
a  great,  good-natured  mason,  with  whose  sick 
child  his  wife  had  watched  night  after  night, 
had  appeared  one  day  with  lime  and  hair  and 
sand,  and  in  white  raiment,  and  had  plastered 
the  entry  and  the  kitchen,  and  finished  a  room 
upstairs. 

And  so,  for  years,  at  home  and  on  the  sea,  at 
New  York  and  at  Valparaiso  and  in  the  Straits 
of  Malacca,  the  little  house  and  the  little  family 
within  it  had  grown  into  the  fibre  of  Eli's  heart. 
Nothing  had  given  him  more  delight  than  to 
meet,  in  the  strange  streets  of  Calcutta  or  be- 
fore the  Mosque  of  Omar,  some  practical  Yan- 
kee from  Stonington  or  Machias,  and,  whittling, 


142  ELI. 

to  discuss  with  him,  among  the  turbans  of  the 
Orient,  the  comparative  value  of  shaved  and  of 
sawed  shingles,  or  the  economy  of  "  Swedes- 
iron  "  nails,  and  to  go  over  with  him  the  es- 
timates and  plans  which  he  had  worked  out 
in  his  head  under  all  the  constellations  of  the 
skies. 

The  supper  things  were  cleared  away.  The 
children  had  said  good-night  and  gone  to  bed, 
and  Eli  had  been  sitting  for-  an  hour  by  his 
wife's  bedside.  He  had  had  to  tax  his  patience 
and  ingenuity  heavily  during  the  long  months 
that  she  had  lain  there  to  entertain  her  for  a 
little  while  in  the  evening,  after  his  hard,  wet 
day's  work.  He  had  been  talking  now  of  the 
coming  week,  when  he  was  to  serve  upon  the 
jury  in  the  adjoining  county-town. 

"  I  cal'late  I  can  come  home  about  every 
night,"  he  said,  "  and  it  '11  be  quite  a  change,  at 
any  rate." 

"  But  you  don't  seem  so  cheerful  about  it 
as  I  counted  you  would  be,"  said  his  wife.  "  Are 
you  afraid  you  '11  have  to  be  on  the  bank 
case?" 


ELI.  143 

"  Not  much  !  "  he  answered.  "  No  trouble 
'n  that  case !  Jury  won't  leave  their  seats. 
These  city  fellers  '11  find  they  've  bit  off  more  'n 
they  can  chew  when  they  try  to  figure  out 
John  Wood  done  that.  I  only  hope  I  '11  have 
the  luck  to  be  on  that  case  —  all  hands  on  the 
jury  whisper  together  a  minute,  and  then  clear 
him,  right  on  the  spot,  and  then  shake  hands 
with  him  all  'round  !  " 

"  But  something  is  worrying  you,"  she  said. 
"  What  is  it?  You  have  looked  it  since  noon." 

"Oh,  nothin',"  he  replied  — "  only  George 
Cahoon  came  up  to-noon  to  say  that  he  was 
goin'  West  next  week,  and  that  he  would  have 
to  have  that  money  he  let  me  have  awhile  ago. 
And  where  to  get  it  —  I  don't  know." 


III. 

THE  court-room  was  packed.  John  Wood's 
trial  was  drawing  to  its  close.  Eli  was  on  the 
jury.  Some  one  had  advised  the  prosecuting 
attorney,  in  a  whisper,  to  challenge  him,  but  he 
had  shaken  his  head  and  said,  — 

"  Oh,  I  could  n't  afford  to  challenge  him  for 


144  ELI- 

that ;  it  would  only  leak  out,  and  set  the  jury 
against  me.  I  '11  risk  his  standing  out  against 
this  evidence." 

The  trial  had  been  short.  It  had  been  shown 
how  the  little  building  of  the  bank  had  been 
entered.  Skilled  locksmiths  from  the  city  had 
testified  that  the  safe  was  opened  with  a  key, 
and  that  the  lock  was  broken  afterward,  from 
the  inside,  plainly  to  raise  the  theory  of  a 
forcible  entry  by  strangers. 

It  had  been  proved  that  the  only  key  in  ex- 
istence, not  counting  that  kept  by  the  president, 
was  in  the  possession  of  Wood,  who  was  filling, 
for  a  few  days,  the  place  of  the  cashier  —  the 
president's  brother — in  his  absence.  It  had 
been  shown  that  Wood  was  met,  at  one  o'clock 
of  the  night  in  question,  crossing  the  fields 
toward  his  home,  from  the  direction  of  the 
bank,  with  a  large  wicker  basket  slung  over  his 
shoulders,  returning,  as  he  had  said,  from  eel- 
spearing  in  Harlow's  Creek;  and  there  was 
other  circumstantial  evidence. 

Mr.  Clark,  the  president  of  the  bank,  had 
won  the  sympathy  of  every  one  by  the  modest 
way  in  which,  with  his  eye-glasses  in  his  hand,  he 


ELI.  145 

had  testified  to  the  particulars  of  the  loss  which 
had  left  him  penniless,  and  had  ruined  others 
whose  little  all  was  in  his  hands.  And  then  in 
reply  to  the  formal  question,  he  had  testified, 
amid  roars  of  laughter  from  the  court-room, 
that  it  was  not  he  who  robbed  the  safe.  At  this, 
even  the  judge  and  Wood's  lawyer  had  not  re- 
strained a  smile. 

This  had  left  the  guilt  with  Wood.  His  law- 
yer, an  inexperienced  young  attorney,  —  who 
had  done  more  or  less  business  for  the  bank 
and  would  hardly  have  ventured  to  defend  this 
case  but  that  the  president  had  kindly  expressed 
his  entire  willingness  that  he  should  do  so,  — 
had,  of  course,  not  thought  it  worth  while  to 
cross-examine  Mr.  Clark,  and  had  directed  his 
whole  argument  against  the  theory  that  the  safe 
had  been  opened  with  a  key,  and  not  by  stran- 
gers. But  he  had  felt  all  through  that,  as  a 
man  politely  remarked  to  him  when  he  finished, 
he  was  only  butting  his  "  head  ag'in  a  stone 
wall." 

And  while  he  was  arguing,  a  jolly-looking  old 
lawyer  had  written,  in  the  fly-leaf  of  a  law-book 
on  his  knee,  and  had  passed  with  a  wink  to  a 
10 


146  ELI. 

young  man  near  him  who  had  that  very  morning 
been  admitted  to  the  bar,  these  lines :  — 

"  When  callow  Blackstones  soar  too  high, 
Quit  common-sense,  and  reckless  fly, 
Soon,  Icarus-like,  they  headlong  fall, 
And  down  come  client,  case,  and  all." 

The  district-attorney  had  not  thought  it  worth 
while  to  expend  much  strength  upon  his  closing 
argument;  but  being  a  jovial  stump-speaker,  of 
a  wide  reputation  within  narrow  limits,  he  had 
not  been  able  to  refrain  from  making  merry 
over  Wood's  statement  that  the  basket  which 
he  had  been  seen  bearing  home,  on  the  eventful 
night,  was  a  basket  of  eels. 

"  Fine  eels  those,  gentlemen  !  We  have  seen 
gold-fish  and  silver-fish,  but  golden  eels  are  first 
discovered  by  this  defendant.  The  apostle,  in 
Holy  Writ,  caught  a  fish  with  a  coin  in  its 
mouth  ;  but  this  man  leaves  the  apostle  in 
the  dim  distance  when  he  finds  eels  that  are 
all  money.  No  storied  fisherman  of  Bagdad, 
catching  enchanted  princes  disguised  as  fishes 
in  the  sea,  ever  hooked  such  a  treasure  as  this 
defendant  hooked  when  he  hooked  that  basket 
of  eels !  [Rustling  appreciation  of  the  jest 


ELI.  147 

among  the  jury.]  If  a  squirming,  twisting, 
winding,  wriggling  eel,  gentlemen,  can  be  said 
at  any  given  moment  to  have  a  back,  we  may 
distinguish  this  new-found  species  as  the  green- 
back eel.  It  is  a  common  saying  that  no  man 
can  hold  an  eel  and  remain  a  Christian.  I 
should  like  to  have  viewed  the  pious  equanimity 
of  this  good  man  when  he  laid  his  hands  on  that 
whole  bed  of  eels.  In  happy,  barefoot  boy- 
hood,, gentlemen,  we  used  to  find  mud-turtles 
marked  with  initials  or  devices  cut  in  their 
shells;  but  what  must  have  been  our  friend's 
surprise  to  find,  in  the  muddy  bed  of  Harlow's 
Creek,  eels  marked  with  a  steel-engraving  of 
the  landing  of  Columbus  and  the  signature  of 
the  Register  of  the  Treasury !  I  hear  that  a 
corporation  is  now  being  formed  by  the  title  of 
The  Harlow's  Creek  Greenback  National  Bank- 
bill  Eel-fishing  Company,  to  follow  up,  with 
seines  and  spears,  our  worthy  friend's  discovery  ! 
I  learn  that  the  news  of  this  rich  placer  has 
spread  to  the  golden  mountains  of  the  West, 
and  that  the  exhausted  intellects  which  have 
been  reduced  to  such  names  for  their  mines 
as  '  The  Tombstone,'  '  The  Red  Dog,'  the  '  Mrs. 


148  ELI. 

E.  J.  Parkhurst/  are  likely  now  to  flood  us  with 
prospectuses  of  the  '  Eel  Mine/  '  The  Flat  Eel/ 
'  The  Double  Eel/  and  then,  when  they  get 
ready  to  burst  upon  confiding  friends,  '  The 
Consolidated  Eels/  ' 

It  takes  but  little  to  make  a  school  or  a 
court-room  laugh,  and  the  speech  had  appeared 
to  give  a  good  deal  of  amusement  to  the 
listeners. 

To  all? 

Did  it  amuse  that  man  who  sat,  with  folded 
arms,  harsh  and  rigid,  at  the  dock?  Did  it 
divert  that  white-faced  woman,  cowering  in  a 
corner,  listening  as  in  a  dream? 

The  judge  now  charged  the  jury  briefly.  It 
was  unnecessary  for  him,  he  said,  to  recapitulate 
evidence  of  so  simple  a  character.  The  chief 
question  for  the  jury  was  as  to  the  credibility  of 
the  witnesses.  If  the  witnesses  for  the  prosecu- 
tion were  truthful  and  were  not  mistaken,  the 
inference  of  guilt  seemed  inevitable ;  this  the  de- 
fendant's counsel  had  conceded.  The  defendant 
had  proved  a  good  reputation ;  upon  that  point 
there  was  only  this  to  be  said :  that,  while  such 


ELI.  149 

evidence  was  entitled  to  weight,  yet,  on  the 
other  hand,  crimes  involving  a  breach  of  trust 
could,  from  their  very  nature,  be  committed 
only  by  persons  whose  good  reputations  secured 
them  positions  of  trust. 

The  jury-room  had  evidently  not  been  fur- 
nished by  a  ring.  It  had  a  long  table  for  de- 
bate, twelve  hard  chairs  for  repose,  twelve 
spittoons  for  luxury,  and  a  clock. 

The  jury  sat  in  silence  for  a  few  moments,  as 
old  Captain  Nourse,  who  had  them  in  his  keep- 
ing, and  eyed  them  as  if  he  was  afraid  that  he 
might  lose  one  of  them  in  a  crack  and  be  held 
accountable  on  his  bond,  rattled  away  at  the 

unruly  lock.     Looking  at  them  then,  you  would 

• 

have  seen  faces  all  of  a  New  England  cast  but 
one.  There  was  a  tall,  powerful  negro  called 
George  Washington,  a  man  well  known  in  this 
county  town,  to  which  he  had  come,  as  drift- 
wood from  the  storm  of  war,  in  '65.  Some  of 
the  "  boys  "  had  heard  him,  in  a  great  prayer- 
meeting  in  Washington  —  a  city  which  he 
always  spoke  of  as  his  "namesake"  —  at  the 
time  of  the  great  review,  say,  in  his  strong  voice, 


150  ELI. 

with  that  pathetic  quaver  in  it:  "Like  as  de 
parched  an'  weary  traveller  hangs  his  harp  upon 
de  winder,  an'  sighs  for  oysters  in  de  desert,  so 
I  longs  to  res'  my  soul  an'  my  foot  in  Mass' 
chusetts;"  and  they  were  so  delighted  with 
him  that  they  invited  him  on  the  spot  to  go 
home  with  them,  and  took  up  a  collection  to 
pay  his  fare ;  and  so  he  was  a  public  character. 
As  for  his  occupation,  — when  the  census-taker, 
with  a  wink  to  the  boys  in  the  store,  had  asked 
him  what  it  was,  he  had  said,  in  that  same  odd 
tone:  "Putties  up  glass  a  little  —  whitewashes  a 
little  —  "  and,  when  the  man  had  made  a  show 
of  writing  all  that  down,  "  preaches  a  little." 
He  might  have  said,  "  preaches  a  big,"  for  you 
could  hear  him  half  a  mile  away. 

The  foreman  was  a  retired  sea-captain. 
"Good  cap'n  — Cap'n  Thomas,"  one  of  his 
neighbors  had  said  of  him.  "  Allers  gits  good 
ships — never  hez  to  go  huntin'  'round  for  a  ves- 
sel. But  it  is  astonishin'  what  differences  they 
is  !  Now  there  's  Cap'n  A.  K.  P.  Bassett,  down 
to  the  West  Harbor.  You  let  it  git  'round  that 
Cap'n  A.  K.  P.  is  goin'  off  on  a  Chiny  voyage, 
and  you  '11  see  half  a  dozen  old  shays  to  once-t, 


ELI.  151 

hitched  all  along  his  fence  of  an  arternoon,  and 
wimmen  inside  the  house,  to  git  Cap'n  A.  K.  P. 
to  take  their  boys.  But  you  let  Cap'n  Thomas 
give  out  that  he  wants  boys,  and  he  hez  to 
glean  'em  —  from  the  poor-house,  and  from 
step-mothers,  and  where  he  can :  the  women 
knows  !  Still,"  he  added,  "  Cap'n  Thomas  's  a 
good  cap'n.  I  Ve  nothin'  to  say  ag'in  him. 
He  's  smart !  " 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  the  foreman,  when  the 
officer,  at  last,  had  securely  locked  them  in, 
"  shall  we  go  through  the  formality  of  a  ballot? 
If  the  case  were  a  less  serious  one,  we  might 
have  rendered  a  verdict  in  our  seats." 

"What's  the  use  foolin'  'round  ballotin'?" 
said  a  thick-set  butcher.  "  Ain't  we  all  o*  one 
mind?" 

"  It  is  for  you  to  say,  gentlemen,"  said  the 
foreman.  "  I  should  n't  want  to  have  it  go 
abroad  that  we  had  not  acted  formally,  if  there 
was  any  one  disposed  to  cavil." 

"  Mr.  Speaker,"  said  George  Washington,  ris- 
ing and  standing  in  the  attitude  of  Webster, 
"  I  rises  to  appoint  to  order.  We  took  ballast 


152  ELI. 

in  de  prior  cases,  and  why  make  flesh  of  one 
man  an'  a  fowl  of  another?" 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  foreman,  a  trifle  sharply ; 
"  '  the  longest  way  round  is  the  shortest  way 
home.' " 

Twelve  slips  of  paper  were  handed  out,  to 
be  indorsed  guilty,  "  for  form."  They  were  col- 
lected in  a  hat  and  the  foreman  told  them  over  — 
"just  for  form.".  "  '  Guilty,'  'guilty,'  'guilty,' 
'guilty'  —  wait  a  minute,"  he  said,  "here  is  a 
mistake.  Here  is  one  'not  guilty' — whose  is 
this?" 

There  was  a  pause. 

"Whose  is  it?"  said  the  foreman,  sharply. 

Eli  turned  a  little  red. 

"  It's  mine,"  he  said. 

"  Do  you  mean  it?  "  said  the  foreman. 

"  Of  course  I  mean  it,"  he  answered. 

"  Whew  !  "  whistled  the  foreman.  "  Very  well, 
sir;  we'll  have  an  understanding,  then.  This 
case  is  proved  to  the  satisfaction  of  every  man 
who  heard  it,  I  may  safely  say,  but  one.  Will 
that  one  please  state  the  grounds  of  his  opinion?" 

"  I  ain't  no  talker,"  said  Eli,  "  but  I  ain't  sat- 
isfied he  's  guilty  —  that 's  all." 


ELI.  153 

"  Don't  you  believe  the  witnesses?" 

-"  Mostly." 

" Which  one  don't  you  believe?" 

"  I  can't  say.     I  don't  believe  he  's  guilty." 

"  Is  there  one  that  you  think  lied  ?  " 

No  answer. 

"  Now  it  seems  to  me  —  "  said  a  third  juryman. 

"  One  thing  at  a  time,  gentlemen,"  said  the 
foreman.  "  Let  us  wait  for  an  answer  from  Mr. 
Smith.  Is  there  any  one  that  you  think  lied? 
We  will  wait,  gentlemen,  for  an  answer." 

There  was  a  long  pause.  The  trial  seemed 
to  Eli  Smith  to  have  shifted  from  the  court  to 
this  shabby  room,  and  he  was  now  the  culprit. 

All  waited  for  him ;  all  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
him. 

The  clock  ticked  loud !  Eli  counted  the 
seconds.  He  knew  the  determination  of  the 
foreman. 

The  silence  became  intense. 

"  I  want  to  say  my  say,"  said  a  short  man  in 
a  pea-jacket,  —  a  retired  San  Francisco  pilot, 
named  Eldridge.  "  I  entertain  no  doubt  the  man 
is  guilty.  At  the  same  time,  I  allow  for  differ- 
ences of  opinion.  I  don't  know  this  man  that 's 


154  ELI. 

voted  '  not  guilty,'  but  he  seems  to  be  a  well- 
meaning  man.  I  don't  know  his  reasons ;  prob- 
ably he  don't  understand  the  case.  I  should 
like  to  have  the  foreman  tell  the  evidence  over, 
so  as  if  he  don't  see  it  clear,  he  can  ask  ques- 
tions, and  we  can  explain." 

"  I  second  de  motion,"  said  George  Wash- 
ington. 

There  was  a  general  rustle  of  approval. 

"  I  move  it,"  said  the  pilot,  encouraged. 

"  Very  well,  Mr.  Eldridge,"  said  the  foreman. 
"  If  there  is  no  objection,  I  will  state  the  evi- 
dence, and  if  there  is  any  loop-hole,  I  will  trouble 
Mr.  Smith  to  suggest  it  as  I  go  along;  "  and  he 
proceeded  to  give  a  summary  of  the  testimony, 
with  homely  force. 

"  Now,  sir?"  he  said,  when  he  had  finished. 

"  I  move  for  another  ballot,"  said  Mr.  Eldridge. 

The  result  was  the  same^  Eli  had  voted  "  not 
guilty." 

"  Mr.  Smith,"  said  the  foreman,  "  this  must 
be  settled  in  some  way.  This  is  no  child's  play. 
You  can't  keep  eleven  men  here,  trifling  with 
them,  giving  no  pretence  of  a  reason." 

"  I  have  n't  no  reasons,  only  that  I  don't  be- 


ELI.  155 

lieve  he  's  guilty,"  said  Eli.  "  I  'm  not  goin'  to 
vote  a  man  into  State's-prison,  when  I  don't 
believe  he  done  it,"  and  he  rose  and  walked  to 
the  window  and  looked  out.  It  was  low  tide. 
There  was  a  broad  stretch  of  mud  in  the  dis- 
tance, covered  with  boats  lying  over  disconso- 
late. A  driving  storm  had  emptied  the  streets. 
He  beat  upon  the  rain-dashed  glass  a  moment 
with  his  ringers,  and  then  he  sat  down  again. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  the  foreman,  "  this  is  singular 
conduct.  What  do  you  propose  to  do?  " 

Silence. 

"  I  suppose  you  realize  that  the  rest  of  us  are 
pretty  rapidly  forming  a  conclusion  on  this  mat- 
ter," said  the  foreman. 

"Come!  come!  "  said  Mr.  Eldridge;  "don't 
be  quite  so  hard  on  him,  Captain.  Now,  Mr. 
Smith,"  he  said,  standing  up  with  his  hands  in 
his  coat-pockets  and  looking  at  Eli,  "  we  know 
that  there  often  is  crooked  sticks  on  juries,  that 
hold  out  alone  —  that's  to  be  expected;  but 
they  always  argue,  and  stand  to  it  the  rest  are 
fools,  and  all  that.  Now,  all  is,  we  don't  see 
why  you  don't  sort  of  argue,  if  you  Ve  got  rea- 
sons satisfactory  to  you.  Come,  now,"  he  added, 


156  ELI. 

walking  up  to  Eli,  and  resting  one  foot  on  the 
seat  of  his  chair,  "why  don't  you  tell  it  over? 
and  if  we  're  wrong,  I  'm  ready  to  join  you." 

Eli  looked  up  at  him. 

"  Did  n't  you  ever  know,"  he  said,  "  of  a  man's 
takin'  a  cat  off,  to  lose,  that  his  little  girl  did  n't 
want  drownded,  and  leavin'  him  ashore,  twenty 
or  thirty  miles,  bee-line,  from  home,  and  that 
cat's  bein'  back  again  the  next  day,  purrin' 
'round's  if  nothin'  had  happened?" 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Eldridge  —  "  knew  of  just 
such  a  case." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Eli ;  "  how  does  he  find  his 
way  home?" 

"Don't  know,"  said  Mr.  Eldridge;  "always 
has  been  a  standing  mystery  to  me." 

"  Well,"  said  Eli,  "  mark  my  words.  There  's 
such  a  thing  as  arguin',  and  there  's  such  a  thing 
as  knowin'  outright;  and  when  you'll  tell  me 
how  that  cat  inquires  his  way  home,  I  '11  tell  you 
how  I  know  John  Wood  ain't  guilty." 

This  made  a  certain  sensation,  and  Eli's  stock 
went  up. 

An  old,  withered  man  rapped  on  the  table. 

"That's   so!"  he  said;    "and  there's  other 


ELI.  157 

sing'lar  things  !  How  is  it  that  a  seafarin'  man, 
that 's  dyin'  to  home,  will  allers  die  on  the  ebb- 
tide? It  never  fails,  but  how  does  it  happen? 
Tell  me  that !  And  there  's  more  ways  than  one 
ofknowin'  things,  too!" 

"  I  know  that  man  ain't  guilty,"  said  Eli. 

"  Hark  ye ! "  said  a  dark  old  man  with  a 
troubled  face,  rising  and  pointing  his  ringer 
toward  Eli.  "  Know,  you  say?  I  knew,  wunst. 
I  knew  that  my  girl,  my  only  child,  was  good. 
One  night  she  went  off  with  a  married  man  that 
worked  in  my  store,  and  stole  my  money  —  and 
where  is  she  now?  "  And  then  he  added,  "  What 
I  knoiv  is,  that  every  man  hes  his  price.  I  hev 
mine,  and  you  hev  yourn !  " 

"  'Xcuse  me,  Mr.  Speaker,"  said  George  Wash- 
ington, rising  with  his  hand  in  his  bosom ;  "  as 
de  question  is  befo'  us,  I  wish  to  say  that  de  las' 
bro'  mus'  have  spoken  under  'xcitement.  Every 
man  don'  have  his  price !  An'  I  hope  de  bro' 
will  recant —  like  as  de  Psalmist  goes  out  o'  his 
way  to  say  '  In  my  haste  I  said,  All  men  are  liars.' 
He  was  a  very  busy  man,  de  Psalmist  —  writin' 
down  hymns  all  day,  sharpen'n'  his  lead- pencil, 
bossin'  'roun'  de  choir — callin'  Selah  !  Well, 


158  ELI. 

bro'n  an'  sisters  "  —  both  arms  going  out,  and 
his  voice  going  up — "one  day,  seems  like,  he 
was  in  gre't  haste  —  got  to  finish  a  psalm  for  a 
monthly  concert,  or  such  —  and  some  man  in- 
corrupted  him,  and  lied ;  and  bein'  in  gre't  haste 
—  and  a  little  old  Adam  in  him  —  he  says, 
right  off,  quick:  'All  men  are  liars  !  '  But  see  ! 
When  he  gits  a  little  time  to  set  back  and  medi- 
tate, he  says:  '  Dis  won' do  —  dere's  Moses 
an'  Job,  an'  Paul  —  dey  ain't  liars  !  '  An'  den  he 
don'  sneak  out,  and  'low  he  said,  '  All  men  is 
lions,'  or  such.  No  !  de  Psalmist  ain't  no  such 
man ;  but  he  owns  up,  'an  'xplains.  '  In  my 
haste]  he  says,  '  I  said  it.'  " 

The  foreman  rose  and  rapped. 

"  I  await  a  motion,"  said  he,  "  if  our  friend 
will  allow  me  the  privilege  of  speaking." 

Mr.  Washington  calmly  bowed. 

Then  the  foreman,  when  nobody  seemed  dis- 
posed to  move,  speaking  slowly  at  first,  and 
piecemeal,  alternating  language  with  smoke, 
gradually  edged  into  the  current  of  the  evidence, 
and  ended  by  going  all  over  it  again,  with  fresh 
force  and  point.  His  cigar  glowed  and  chilled 
in  the  darkening  room  as  he  talked. 


ELI.  159 

"  Now,"  he  said,  when  he  had  drawn  all  the 
threads  together  to  the  point  of  guilt,  "  what  are 
we  going  to  do  upon  this  evidence?  " 

"  I  '11  tell  you  something,"  said  Eli.  "  I  did  n't 
want  to  say  it  because  I  know  what  you  '11  all 
think,  but  I  '11  tell  you,  all  the  same." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  foreman. 

Eli  stood  up  and  faced  the  others. 

"'Most  all  o'  you  know  what  our  Bar  is  in  a 
southeast  gale.  They  ain't  a  man  here  that  would 
dare  to  try  and  cross  it  when  the  sea 's  breakin'  on 
it.  The  man  that  says  he  would,  lies  !  "  And  he 
looked  at  the  foreman,  and  waited  a  moment. 

"  When  my  wife  took  sick,  and  I  stopped 
goin'  to  sea,  two  year  ago,  and  took  up  boat- 
fishin',  I  did  n't  know  half  as  much  about  the 
coast  as  the  young  boys  do,  and  one  afternoon 
it  was  blowin'  a  gale,  and  we  was  all  hands 
comin'  in,  and  passin'  along  the  Bar  to  go  sheer 
'round  it  to  the  west'ard,  and  Captain  Fred  Cook 
—  he  's  short-sighted  —  got  on  to  the  Bar  be- 
fore he  knew  it,  and  then  he  hed  to  go  ahead, 
whether  or  no ;  and  I  was  right  after  him,  and  I 
s'posed  he  knew,  and  I  followed  him.  Well,  he 
was  floated  over,  as  luck  was,  all  right ;  but  when 


160  ELI. 

I  'd  just  got  on  the  Bar,  a  roller  dropped  back 
and  let  my  bowsprit  down  into  the  sand,  and 
then  come  up  quicker'n  lightnin'  and  shoul- 
dered the  boat  over,  t'  other  end  first,  and  slung 
me  into  the  water;  and  when  I  come  up,  I  see 
somethin'  black,  and  there  was  John  Wood's 
boat  runnin'  by  me  before  the  wind  with  a  rush 
—  and  'fore  I  knew  an'thing,  he  had  me  by  the 
hair  by  one  hand,  and  in  his  boat,  and  we  was 
over  the  Bar.  Now,  I  tell  you,  a  man  that  looks 
the  way  I  saw  him  look  when  I  come  over  the 
gunwale,  face  up,  don't  go  'round  breakin'  in  and 
hookin'  things.  He  hed  n't  one  chance  in  five, 
and  he  was  a  married  man,  too,  with  small  chil- 
dren. And  what 's  more,"  he  added  incau- 
tiously, "  he  did  n't  stop  there.  When  he  found 
out,  this  last  spring,  that  I  was  goin'  to  lose  my 
place,  he  lent  me  money  enough  to  pay  the 
interest  that  was  overdue  on  the  mortgage,  of 
his  own  accord." 

And  he  stopped  suddenly. 

"  You  have  certainly  explained  yourself,"  said 
the  foreman.  "  I  think  we  understand  you 
distinctly." 

"  There  is  n't  one  word  of  truth  in  that  idea," 


ELI.  l6l 

said  Eli,  flushing  up,  "  and  you  know  it.  I  Ve 
paid  him  back  every  cent.  I  know  him  better  'n 
any  of  you,  that 's  all,  and  when  I  know  he  ain't 
guilty,  I  won't  say  he  is ;  and  I  can  set  here  as 
long  as  any  other  man." 

"  Lively  times  some  folks  '11  hev,  when  they 
go  home,"  said  a  spare  tin-pedler,  stroking  his 
long  yellow  goatee.  "  Go  into  the  store :  no- 
body speak  to  you ;  go  to  cattle-show :  every- 
body follow  you  'round;  go  to  the  wharf: 
nobody  weigh  your  fish ;  go  to  buy  seed-cakes 
to  the  cart :  baker  won't  give  no  tick." 

"  How  much  does  it  cost,  Mr.  Foreman,"  said 
the  butcher,  "  for  a  man  't  's  obliged  to  leave 
town,  to  move  a  family  out  West?  I  only  ask 
for  information.  I  have  known  a  case  where 
a  man  had  to  leave  —  could  n't  live  there  no 
longer  —  wa'  n't  wanted." 

There  was  a  knock.  An  officer,  sent  by  the 
judge,  inquired  whether  the  jury  were  likely 
soon  to  agree. 

"  It  rests  with  you,  sir,"  said  the  foreman, 
looking  at  Eli. 

But  Eli  sat  doggedly  with   his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  and  did  not  look  up  or  speak. 
ii 


1 62  ELI. 

"  Say  to  the  judge  that  I  cannot  tell,"  said 
the  foreman. 

It  was  eight  o'clock  when  the  officer  returned, 
with  orders  to  take  the  jury  across  the  street  to 
the  hotel,  to  supper.  They  went  out  in  pairs, 
except  that  the  juryman  who  was  left  to  fall  in 
with  Eli  made  three  with  the  file  ahead,  and 
left  Eli  to  walk  alone.  This  was  noticed  by  the 
bystanders.  At  the  hotel,  Eli  could  not  eat  a 
mouthful.  He  was  seated  at  one  end  of  the  ta- 
ble, and  was  left  entirely  out  of  the  conversation. 
When  the  jury  were  escorted  back  to  the  court- 
house, rumors  had  evidently  begun  to  arise  from 
his  having  walked  alone,  for  there  was  quite  a 
little  crowd  at  the  hotel  door,  to  see  them.  They 
went  as  before :  four  pairs,  a  file  of  three,  and 
Eli  alone.  Then  the  spectators  understood  it. 

When  the  jury  were  locked  into  their  room 
again  for  the  night,  Mr.  Eldridge  sat  down  by 
Eli  and  lit  his  pipe. 

"  I  understand,"  he  said,  "  just  how  you  feel. 
Now,  between  you  and  me,  there  was  a  good- 
hearted  fellow  that  kept  me  out  of  a  bad  mess 
once.  I  've  never  told  anybody  just  what  it 


ELI.  163 

was,  and  I  don't  mean  to  tell  you  now,  but  it 
brought  my  blood  up  standing,  to  find  how  near 
I  'd  come  to  putting  a  fine  steamer  and  two 
hundred  and  forty  passengers  under  water. 
Well,  one  day,  a  year  or  so  after  that,  this  man 
had  a  chance  to  get  a  good  ship,  only  there  was 
some  talk  against  him,  that  he  drank  a  little. 
Well,  the  owners  told  him  they  wanted  to  see 
me,  and  he  come  to  me,  and  says  he,  '  Mr. 
Eldridge,  I  hope  you  '11  speak  a  good  word  for 
me ;  if  you  do,  I  '11  get  the  ship,  but  if  they 

refuse   me   this    one,    I  'm    dished    everywhere/ 

• 

Well,  the  owners  put  me  the  square  question, 
and  I  had  to  tell  'em.  Well,  I  met  him  that 
afternoon  on  Sacramento  Street,  as  white  as 
a  sheet,  and  he  would  n't  speak  to  me,  but 
passed  right  by,  and  that  night  he  went  and 
shipped  before  the  mast.  That 's  the  last  I 
ever  heard  of  him ;  but  I  had  to  do  it.  Now," 
he  added,  "  this  man  's  been  good  to  you ;  but 
the  case  is  proved,  and  you  ought  to  vote  with 
the  rest  of  us." 

"  It  ain't  proved,"  said  Eli.  "  The  judge  said 
that  if  any  man  had  a  reasonable  doubt,  he 
ought  to  hold  out.  Now,  I  ain't  convinced." 


1 64  ELI. 

"  Well,  that 's  easy  said,"  replied  Mr.  Eldridge, 
a  little  hotly,  and  he  arose,  and  left  him. 

The  jurymen  broke  up  into  little  knots,  tilted 
their  chairs  back,  and  settled  into  the  easiest 
positions  that  their  cramped  quarters  allowed. 
Most  of  them  lit  their  pipes ;  the  captain,  and 
one  or  two  whom  he  honored,  smoked  fragrant 
cigars,  and  the  room  was  soon  filled  with  a 
dense  cloud. 

Eli  sat  alone  by  the  window. 

"  Sometimes  sell  two  at  one  house,"  said  a 
lank  book-agent,  arousing  himself  from  a  rev- 
erie; "  once  sold  three." 

"  I  think  the  Early  Rose  is  about  as  profitable 
as  any,"  said  a  little  farmer,  with  a  large  circu- 
lar beard.  "  I  used  to  favor  Jacobs's  Seedling, 
but  they  haven't  done  so  well  with  me  of  late 
years." 

"  Sometimes,"  said  the  book-agent,  picking 
his  teeth  with  a  quill,  "  you  '11  go  to  a  house, 
and  they  '11  say  they  can't  be  induced  to  buy 
a  book  of  any  kind,  historical,  fictitious,  or  re- 
ligious ;  but  you  just  keep  on  talking,  and  show 
the  pictures  —  'Grant  in  Boyhood,'  'Grant  a 
Tanner,'  '  Grant  at  Head-quarters,'  '  Grant  in  the 


ELI.  165 

White  House,'  '  Grant  before  Queen  Victoria,' 
and  they  warm  up,  I  tell  you,  and  not  infre- 
quently buy." 

"Do  you  sell  de  'Illustrated  Bible,'"  asked 
Washington,  "wid  de  Hypocrypha?" 

"  No ;  I  have  a  more  popular  treatise  —  the 
'  Illustrated  History  of  the  Bible.'  Greater  va- 
riety. Brings  in  the  surrounding  nations,  in 
costume.  Cloth,  three  dollars;  sheep,  three- 
fifty;  half  calf,  five-seventy-five;  full  morocco, 
gilt  edges,  seven-fifty.  Six  hundred  and  seven 
illustrations  on  wood  and  steel.  Three  different 
engravings  of  Abraham  alone.  Four  of  Noah, 
— '  Noah  before  the  Flood,'  '  Noah  Building  the 
Ark,'  '  Noah  Welcoming  the  Dove,'  '  Noah  on 
Ararat.'  Steel  engraving  of  Ezekiel's  Wheel, 
explaining  prophecy.  Jonah  under  the  gourd, 
Nineveh  in  the  distance." 

Mr.  Eldridge  and  Captain  Thomas  had  drifted 
into  a  discussion  of  harbors,  and  the  captain  had 
drawn  his  chair  up  to  the  table,  and,  with  a 
cigar  in  his  mouth,  was  explaining  an  ingeniously 
constructed  foreign  harbor.  He  was  making  a 
rough  sketch,  with  a  pen. 

"  Here  is  north,"  he  said ;   "  here  is  the  coast- 


1 66  ELI. 

line;  here  are  the  flats;  here  are  the  sluice- 
gates ;  they  store  the  water  here,  in  —  " 

Some  of  the  younger  men  had  their  heads 
together,  in  a  corner,  about  the  tin-pedler,  who 
was  telling  stories  of  people  he  had  met  in  his 
journeys,  which  brought  out  repeated  bursts  of 
laughter. 

In  the  corner  farthest  from  Eli,  a  delicate- 
looking  man  began  to  tell  the  butcher  about 
Eli's  wife. 

"  Twelve  years  ago  this  fall,"  he  said,  "  I 
taught  district-school  in  the  parish  where  she 
lived.  She  was  about  fourteen  then.  Her 
father  was  a  poor  farmer,  without  any  faculty. 
Her  mother  was  dead,  and  she  kept  house.  I 
stayed  there  one  week,  boarding  'round." 

"  Prob'ly  did  n't  git  not  much  of  any  fresh 
meat  that  week,"  suggested  the  butcher. 

"  She  never  said  much,  but  it  used  to  divert 
me  to  see  her  order  around  her  big  brothers, 
just  as  if  she  was  their  mother.  She  and  I  got 
to  be  great  friends ;  but  she  was  a  queer  piece. 
One  day  at  school  the  girls  in  her  row  were 
communicating,  and  annoying  me,  while  the 
third  class  was  reciting  in  '  First  Steps  in  Num- 


ELI.  167 

bers,'  and  I  was  so  incensed  that  I  called 
Lizzie  —  that 's  her  name  —  right  out,  and  had 
her  stand  up  for  twenty  minutes.  She  was 
a  shy  little  thing,  and  set  great  store  by  per- 
fect marks.  I  saw  that  she  was  troubled  a 
good  deal,  to  have  all  of  them  looking  and 
laughing  at  her.  But  she  stood  there,  with 
her  hands  folded  behind  her,  and  not  a  smile 
or  a  word." 

"  Look  out  for  a  sullen  cow,"  said  the  butcher. 

"  I  felt  afraid  I  had  been  too  hasty  with  her, 
and  I  was  rather  sorry  I  had  been  so  decided  — 
although,  to  be  sure,  she  did  n't  pretend  to  deny 
that  she  had  been  communicating." 

"Of  course,"  said  the  butcher:  "no  use  lyin' 
when  you  're  caught  in  the  act." 

"  Well,  after  school,  she  stayed  at  her  desk, 
fixing  her  dinner-pail,  and  putting  her  books  in 
a  strap,  and  all  that,  till  all  the  rest  had  gone, 
and  then  she  came  up  to  my  desk,  where  I 
was  correcting  compositions." 

"  Now  for  music !  "  said  the  butcher. 

"She  had  been  crying  a  little.  Well,  she 
looked  straight  in  my  face,  and  said  she,  '  Mr. 
Pollard,  I  just  wanted  to  say  to  you  that  I 


168  ELI. 

was  n't  doing  anything  at  all  when  you  called 
me  up ; '  and  off  she  went.  Now,  that  was  just 
like  her,  —  too  proud  to  say  a  word  before  the 
school." 

But  here  his  listener's  attention  was  diverted 
by  the  voice  of  the  book-agent. 

"  The  very  best  Bible  for  teachers,  of  course, 
is  the  limp-cover,  protected  edges,  full  Levant 
morocco,  Oxford,  silk-sewed,  kid-lined,  Bishop's 
Divinity  Circuit,  with  concordance,  maps  of  the 
Holy  Land,  weights,  measures,  and  money- 
tables  of  the  Jews.  Nothing  like  having  a 
really  —  " 

"  And  so,"  said  the  captain,  moving  back  his 
chair,  "  they  let  on  the  whole  head  of  water,  and 
scour  out  the  channel  to  a  T." 

And  then  he  rapped  upon  the  table. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  please  draw  your 
chairs  up,  and  let  us  take  another  ballot." 

The  count  resulted  as  before. 

The  foreman  muttered  something  which  had 
a  scriptural  sound.  In  a  few  moments  he  drew 
Mr.  Eldridge  and  two  others  aside.  "  Gentle- 
men," he  said  to  them,  "  I  shall  quietly  divide 
the  jury  into  watches,  under  your  charge :  ten 


ELI.  169 

can  sleep,  while  one  wakes  to  keep  Mr.  Smith 
discussing  the  question.  I  don't  propose  to  have 
the  night  wasted." 

And,  by  one  man  or  another,  Eli  was  kept 
awake. 

"  I  don't  see,"  said  the  book-agent,  "  why  you 
should  feel  obliged  to  stick  it  out  any  longer. 
Of  course,  you  are  under  obligations.  But 
you  Ve  done  more  than  enough  already,  so  as 
that  he  can't  complain  of  you,  and  if  you  give 
in  now,  everybody  '11  give  you  credit  for  trying 
to  save  your  friend,  on  the  one  hand,  and,  on  the 
other  hand,  for  giving  in  to  the  evidence.  So 
you  '11  get  credit  both  ways." 

An  hour  later,  the  tin-pedler  came  on  duty. 
He  had  not  followed  closely  the  story  about  John 
Wood's  loan,  and  had  got  it  a  little  awry. 

"  Now,  how  foolish  you  be,"  he  said,  in  a 
confidential  tone.  "  Can't  you  see  that  if  you 
cave  in  now,  after  stan'n'  out  nine  hours  "  —  and 
he  looked  at  a  silver  watch  with  a  brass  chain, 
and  stroked  his  goatee  —  "  nine  hours  and 
twenty-seven  minutes  —  that  you  Ve  made  jest 
rumpus  enough  so  as 't  he  won't  dare  to  foreclose 


I/O  ELI. 

on  you,  for  fear  they  '11  say  you  went  back  on  a 
trade.  On  t'  other  hand,  if  you  hold  clear  out, 
he'll  turn  you  out-o' -doors  to-morrow,  for  a 
blind,  so  's  to  look  as  if  there  wa'  n't  no  trade 
between  you.  Once  he  gits  off,  he  won't  know 
Joseph,  you  bet!  That's  what  I  'd  do,"  he 
added,  with  a  sly  laugh.  "Take  your  uncle's 
advice." 

"The  only  trouble  with  that,"  said  Eli, 
shortly,  "  is  that  I  don't  owe  him  anything." 

"  Oh,"  said  the  pedler;  "  that  makes  a  differ- 
ence. I  understood  you  did." 

Three  o'clock  came,  and  brought  Mr.  El- 
dridge.  He  found  Eli  worn  out  with  excite- 
ment. 

"  Now,  I  don't  judge  you  the  way  the  others 
do,"  said  Mr.  Eldridge,  in  a  low  tone,  with  his 
hand  on  Eli's  knee.  "  I  know,  as  I  told  you, 
just  the  way  you  feel.  But  we  can't  help  such 
things.  Suppose,  now,  that  I  had  kept  dark,  and 
allowed  to  the  owners  that  that  man  was  always 
sober,  and  I  had  heard,  six  months  after,  of 
thirty  or  forty  men  going  to  the  bottom  because 
the  captain  was  a  little  off  his  base ;  and  then 
to  think  of  their  wives  and  children  at  home. 


ELI.  I/I 

We  have  to  do  some  hard  things;    but  I  say, 
do  the  square  thing,  and  let  her  slide." 

"  But  I  can't  believe  he  's  guilty,"  said  Eli. 

"  But  don't  you  allow,"  said  Mr.  Eldridge, 
"  that  eleven  men  are  more  sure  to  hit  it  right 
than  one  man?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Eli,  reluctantly,  "  as  a  general 
thing." 

"Well,  there's  always  got  to  be  some  give  to 
a  jury,  just  as  in  everything  else,  and  you  ought 
to  lay  right  down  on  the  rest  of  us.  It  is  n't 
as  if  we  were  at  all  squirmish.  Now,  you  know 
that  if  you  hold  out,  he  '11  be  tried  again." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so." 

"  Got  to  be  —  no  other  way,"  said  Mr.  El- 
dridge. "  Now,  the  next  time,  there  won't  be 
anybody  like  you  to  stand  out,  and  the  judge  '11 
know  of  this  scrape,  and  he  '11  just  sock  it  to 
him." 

Eli  turned  uneasily  in  his  chair. 

"  And  then  it  won't  be  understood  in  your 
place,  and  folks  '11  turn  against  you  every  way, 
and,  what's  worse,  let  you  alone." 

"  I  can  stand  it,"  said  Eli,  angrily.  "  Let  'em 
do  as  they  like.  They  can't  kill  me." 


172  ELI. 

"They  can  kill  your  wife  and  break  down 
your  children,"  said  Mr.  Eldridge.  "  Women 
and  children  can't  stand  it.  Now,  there  's  that 
man  they  were  speaking  of;  he  lived  down 
my  way.  He  sued  a  poor,  shiftless  fellow  that 
had  come  from  Pennsylvania  to  his  daughter's 
funeral,  and  had  him  arrested  and  taken  off, 
crying,  just  before  the  funeral  begun  —  after 
they'd  even  set  the  flowers  on  the  coffin;  and 
nobody 'd  speak  to  him  after  that — they  just 
let  him  alone ;  and  after  a  while  his  wife  took 
sick  of  it  —  she  was  a  nice,  kindly  woman  — 
and  she  had  sort  of  hysterics,  and  finally  he 
moved  off  West.  And  't  was  n't  long  before 
the  woman  died.  Now,  you  can't  undertake  to 
do  different  from  everybody  else." 

"Well,"  said  Eli,  "I  know  I  wish  it  was 
done  with." 

Mr.  Eldridge  stretched  his  arms  and  yawned. 
Then  he  began  to  walk  up  and  down,  and 
hum,  out  of  tune.  Then  he  stopped  at  Captain 
Thomas's  chair. 

"  Suppose  we  try  a  ballot,"  he  said.  "  He 
seems  to  give  a  little." 

In  a  moment  the  foreman  rapped. 


ELI.  173 

"  It  is  time  we  were  taking  another  ballot, 
gentlemen,"  he  said. 

The  sleepers  rose,  grumbling,  from  uneasy 
dreams. 

"  I  will  write  '  guilty '  on  twelve  ballots,"  said 
the  foreman,  "and  if  any  one  desires  to  write  in 
'  not,'  of  course  he  can." 

When  the  hat  came  to  Eli,  he  took  one  of 
the  ballots  and  held  it  in  his  hand  a  moment, 
and  then  he  laid  it  on  the  table.  There  was  a 
general  murmur.  The  picture  which  Mr.  El- 
dridge  had  drawn  loomed  up  before  him.  But 
with  a  hasty  hand  he  wrote  in  "  not,"  dropped 
in  the  ballot,  and  going  back  to  his  chair  by  the 
window,  sat  down. 

There  was  a  cold  wave  of  silence. 

Then  Eli  suddenly  walked  up  to  the  foreman 
and  faced  him. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  "  we  '11  stop.  The  very  next 
turn  breaks  ground.  If  you,  or  any  other  man 
that  you  set  on,  tries  to  talk  to  me  when  I  don't 
want  to  hear,  to  worry  me  to  death — look  out !  " 

How  the  long  hours  wore  on !  How  easy, 
sometimes,  to  resist  an  open  pressure,  and  how 
hard,  with  the  resistance  gone,  to  fight,  as  one 


ELI- 

that  beats  the  air !  How  the  prospect  of  a 
whole  hostile  town  loomed  up,  in  a  mirage, 
before  Eli !  And  then  the  picture  rose  before 
him  of  a  long,  stately  bark,  now  building,  whose 
owner  had  asked  him  yesterday  to  be  first  mate. 
And  if  his  wife  were  only  well,  and  he  were 
only  free  from  this  night's  trouble,  how  soon, 
upon  the  long,  green  waves,  he  could  begin  to 
redeem  his  little  home ! 

And  then  came  Mr.  Eldridge,  kind  and 
friendly,  to  have  another  little  chat. 

Morning  came,  cold  and  drizzly.  An  officer 
knocked  at  the  door,  and  called  out,  "  Break- 
fast !  "  And  in  a  moment,  unwashed,  and  all 
uncombed,  except  the  tin-pedler,  who  always 
carried  a  beard-comb  in  his  pocket,  they  were 
marched  across  the  street  to  the  hotel. 

There  were  a  number  of  men  on  the  piazza 
waiting  to  see  them, — jurymen,  witnesses,  and 
the  accused  himself,  for  he  was  on  bail.  He 
had  seen  the  procession  the  night  before,  and, 
like  the  others,  had  read  its  meaning. 

"  Eli  knows  I  would  n't  do  it,"  he  had  said  to 
himself,  "and  he's  going  to  hang  out,  sure." 


ELI.  175 

The  jury  began  to  turn  from  the  court-house 
door.  Everybody  looked.  A  file  of  two  men, 
another  file,  another,  another;  would  there 
come  three  men,  and  then  one?  No;  Eli  no 
longer  walked  alone. 

Everybody  looked  at  Wood ;  he  turned 
sharply  away. 

But  this  time  the  order  of  march  in  fact 
showed  nothing,  one  way  or  the  other.  It 
only  meant  that  the  judge,  who  had  happened  to 
see  the  jury  the  night  before  returning  from  their 
supper,  had  sent  for  the  high  sheriff  in  some 
temper,  —  for  judges  are  human,  —  and  had  vig- 
orously intimated  that  if  that  statesman  did  not 
look  after  his  fool  of  a  deputy,  who  let  a  jury 
parade  secrets  to  the  public  view,  he  would ! 

The  jury  were  in  their  room  again.  At  nine 
o'clock  came  a  rap,  and  a  summons  from  the 
court.  The  prosecuting  attorney  was  speaking 
with  the  judge  when  they  went  in.  In  a  mo- 
ment he  took  his  seat. 

"  John  Wood !  "  called  out  the  clerk,  and  the 
defendant  arose.  His  attorney  was  not  there. 

"  Mr.  Foreman  !  "  said  the  judge,  rising.     The 


ELI. 

jury  arose.  The  silence  of  the  crowded  court- 
room was  intense. 

"  Before  the  clerk  asks  you  for  a  verdict, 
gentlemen,"  said  the  judge,  "  I  have  something 
of  the  first  importance  to  say  to  you,  which  has 
but  this  moment  come  to  my  knowledge." 

Eli  changed  color,  and  the  whole  court-room 

looked  at  him. 

• 

"  There  were  some  most  singular  rumors, 
after  the  case  was  given  to  you,  gentlemen,  to 
the  effect  that  there  had  been  in  this  cause  a 
criminal  abuse  of  justice.  It  is  painful  to  sus- 
pect, and  shocking  to  know,  that  courts  and 
juries  are  liable  ever  to  suffer  by  such  unprin- 
cipled practices.  After  ten  years  upon  the 
bench,  I  never  witness  a  conviction  of  crime 
without  pain ;  but  that  pain  is  light,  compared 
with  the  distress  of  knowing  of  a  wilful  perver- 
sion of  justice.  It  is  a  relief  to  me  to  be  able 
to  say  to  you  that  such  instances  are,  in  my 
judgment,  exceedingly  rare,  and — so  keen  is 
the  awful  searching  power  of  truth  —  are  almost 
invariably  discovered." 

The  foreman  touched  his  neighbor  with  his 
elbow.  Eli  folded  his  arms. 


ELI. 

"  As  I  said,"  continued  the  judge,  "  there  were 
most  singular  rumors.  During  the  evening  and 
the  night,  rumor,  as  is  often  the  case,  led  to 
evidence,  and  evidence  has  led  to  confession 
and  to  certainty.  And  the  district  attorney  now 
desires  me  to  say  to  you  that  the  chief  officer 
of  the  bank  —  who  held  the  second  key  to  the 
safe  —  is  now  under  arrest  for  a  heavy  defal- 
cation, which  a  sham  robbery  was  to  conceal, 
and  that  you  may  find  the  prisoner  at  the  bar 
—  not  guilty.  I  congratulate  you,  gentlemen, 
that  you  had  not  rendered  an  adverse  verdict." 

"  Your  Honor !  "  said  Eli,  and  he  cleared 
his  throat,  "  I  desire  it  to  be  known  that,  even 
as  the  case  stood  last  night,  this  jury  had  not 
agreed  to  convict,  and  never  would  have !  " 

There  was  a  hush,  while  a  loud  scratching 
pen  indorsed  the  record  of  acquittal.  Then 
Wood  walked  down  to  the  jury-box  and  took 
Eli's  hand. 

"Just  what  I  told  my  wife  all  through/'  he 
said.  "  I  knew  you  'd  hang  out !  " 

Eli's  jury  was  excused  for  the  rest  the  of  day, 
and  by  noon  he  was  in  his  own  village,  relieved, 
12 


1 78  ELI. 

too,  of  his  most  pressing  burden :  for  George 
Gaboon  had  met  him  on  the  road,  and  told  him 
that  he  was  not  going  to  the  West,  after  all,  for 
the  present,  and  should  not  need  his  money. 
But,  as  he  turned  the  bend  of  the  road  and 
neared  his  house,  he  felt  a  rising  fear  that  some 
disturbing  rumor  might  have  reached  his  wife 
about  his  action  on  the  jury.  And,  to  his  dis- 
tress and  amazement,  there  she  was,  sitting  in  a 
chair  at  the  door. 

"Lizzie!"  he  said,  "what  does  this  mean? 
Are  you  crazy?  " 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what  it  means,"  she  said,  as 
she  stood  up  with  a  little  smile  and  clasped 
her  hands  behind  her.  "  This  morning  it  got 
around  and  came  to  me  that  you  was  standing 
out  all  alone  for  John  Wood,  and  that  the  talk 
was  that  they  'd  be  down  on  you,  and  drive  you 
out  of  town,  and  that  everybody  pitied  me, — 
pitied  me !  And  when  I  heard  that,  I  thought 
I  'd  see !  And  my  strength  seemed  to  come  all 
back,  and  I  got  right  up  and  dressed  myself. 
And  what's  more,  I  'm  going  to  get  well  now !  " 

And  she  did. 


BY  THE   SEA. 


I. 

the  southeastern  coast  of  Massachusetts 
is  a  small  village  with  which  I  was  once 
familiarly  acquainted.  It  differs  little  in  its 
general  aspect  from  other  hamlets  scattered 
along  that  shore.  It  has  its  one  long,  strag- 
gling street,  plain  and  homelike,  from  which  at 
two  or  three  different  points  a  winding  lane 
leads  off  and  ends  abruptly  in  the  water. 

Fifty  years  ago  the  village  had  a  business 
activity  of  its  own.  There  still  remain  the 
vestiges  of  a  wharf  at  a  point  where  once  was 
a  hammering  ship-yard.  Here  and  there,  in 
bare  fields  along  the  sea,  are  the  ruins  of  vats 
and  windmills,  —  picturesque  remains  of  ancient 
salt-works. 

There  is  no  visible  sign  left  now  of  the  noisy 
life  of  the  ship-yards,  except  a  marble  stone 


180  BY  THE   SEA. 

beneath  a  willow  in  the  burying-ground  on  the 
hill,  which  laments  the  untimely  death  of  a 
youth  of  nineteen,  killed  in  1830  in  the  launch- 
ing of  a  brig.  But  traces  of  the  salt-works 
everywhere  remain,  in  frequent  sheds  and  small 
barns  which  are  wet  and  dry,  as  the  saying  is, 
all  the  time,  and  will  not  hold  paint.  They  are 
built  of  salt-boards. 

There  were  a  good  many  of  the  people  of  the 
village  and  its  adjoining  country  who  interested 
me  very  greatly.  I  am  going  to  tell  you  a  sim- 
ple event  which  happened  in  one  of  its  families, 
deeply  affecting  its  little  history. 

James  Parsons  was  a  man  perhaps  sixty 
years  of  age,  strongly  built,  gray-haired,  clean- 
shaven except  for  the  conventional  seaman's 
fringe  of  beard  below  the  chin,  and  always 
exquisitely  neat.  Whether  you  met  him  in 
his  best  suit,  on  Sunday  morning,  or  in  his  old 
clothes,  going  to  his  oyster-beds  or  his  cran- 
berry-marsh, it  was  always  the  same.  He  was 
usually  in  his  shirt-sleeves  in  summer.  His 
white  cotton  shirt,  with  its  easy  collar  and  wrist- 
bands, seemed  always  to  have  just  come  from 


BY  THE   SEA.  l8l 

the  ironing-board.  "  It  ain't  no  trouble  at  all 
to  keep  James  clean,"  I  have  heard  Mrs.  Par- 
sons say,  in  her  funny  little  way;  "  he  picks  his 
way  round  for  all  the  world  just  like  a  pussy- 
cat, and  never  gets  no  spots  on  him,  nowhere." 

You  saw  at  once,  upon  the  slightest  acquaint- 
ance with  James,  that  while  he  was  of  the 
same  general  civilization  as  his  neighbors,  he 
was  of  a  different  type.  In  his  narrowness, 
there  was  a  peculiar  breadth  and  vigor  which 
characterized  him.  He  had  about  him  the 
atmosphere  of  a  wider  ocean. 

His  early  reminiscences  were  all  of  that  pic- 
turesque and  adventurous  life  which  prevailed 
along  our  coasts  to  within  forty  years,  and  his 
conversation  was  suggestive  of  it.  He  held  a 
silver  medal  from  the  Humane  Society  for  con- 
spicuous bravery  in  the  rescue  of  the  crew  of 
a  ship  stranded  in  winter  in  a  storm  of  sleet  off 
Post  Hill  Bar.  He  had  a  war-hatchet,  for  which 
he  had  negotiated  face  to  face  with  a  naked 
cannibal  in  the  South  Sea.  He  was  familiar  with 
the  Hoogly. 

His  language  savored  always  of  the  sea.  His 
hens  "  turned  in,"  at  night.  He  was  full  of  says 


182  BY  THE   SEA. 

and  formulas  of  a  maritime  nature ;  there  was 
one  which  always  seemed  to  me  to  have  some- 
thing of  a  weird  and  mystic  character :  "  South 
moon  brings  high  water  on  Coast  Island  Bar." 
In  describing  the  transactions  of  domestic  life, 
he  used  words  more  properly  applicable  to  the 
movements  of  large  ships.  He  would  speak  of 
a  saucepan  as  if  it  weighed  a  hundred  tons. 
He  never  tossed  or  threw  even  the  slightest 
object;  he  hove  it.  "Why,  father!"  said  Mrs. 
Parsons,  surprised  at  seeing  him  for  a  moment 
untidy;  "  what  have  you  ben  doing?  Your 
boots  and  trousers-legs  is  all  white !  "  "  Yes," 
said  Mr.  Parsons,  apologetically,  looking  down 
upon  his  dusty  garments,  "  I  just  took  that 
bucket  of  ashes  and  hove  'em  into  the  hen- 
house." 

The  word  "  heave,"  in  fact,  was  always  upon  his 
tongue.  It  applied  to  everything.  "  How  was 
this  road  straightened  out?"  I  asked  him  one 
day;  "  did  the  town  vote  to  do  it  ?"  "  No,  no," 
he  said  quickly;  "there  wasn't  never  no  vote. 
The  se-lec'men  just  come  along  one  day,  and 
got  us  all  together,  and  hove  in  and  hove  out ; 
and  we  altered  our  fences  to  suit." 


BY  THE   SEA.  183 

I  remember  hearing  him  testify  as  a  witness 
to  a  will.  It  appeared  that  the  testator  was 
sick  in  bed  when  he  signed  the  instrument. 
He  was  suffering  greatly,  and  when  he  was  to 
sign,  it  was  necessary  to  lift  him  with  the  ex- 
tremest  care,  to  turn  him  to  the  light-stand. 
"  State  what  was  done  next,"  the  lawyer  asked 
of  James.  "  Captain  Frost  was  laying  on  his 
left  side,"  said  James.  "  Two  of  us  took  a  holt 
of  him  and  rolled  him  over." 

He  had  probably  not  the  least  suspicion 
that  his  language  had  a  maritime  flavor.  I 
asked  him  one  night,  as  we  coasted  along  toward 
home,  "  What  do  seafaring  men  call  the  track  of 
light  that  the  moon  makes  on  the  water?  They 
must  have  some  name  for  it."  "  No,  no,"  he 
said,  ''they  don't  have  no  name  for  it;  they 
just  call  it  *  the  wake  of  the  moon.'  " 

James's  learning  had  been  chiefly  gained  from 
the  outside  world  and  not  from  books.  I  have 
heard  him  lay  it  down  as  a  fact  that  the  word 
"  Bible  "  had  its  etymology  from  the  word  "  by- 
bill"  (hand-bill).  "It  was  writ,"  he  said,  "in 
small  parcels,  and  they  was  passed  around  by 
them  that  writ  'em,  like  by-bills ;  and  so  when 


1 84  BY  THE   SEA. 

they  hove   it   all   into    one,  they  called    it  the 
'Bible.'" 

But  while  James  had  little  learning  himself, 
he  appreciated  it  highly  in  others.  I  had  oc- 
casion to  ask  him  once  why  it  was  that  the  son 
of  one  of  his  neighbors,  in  closing  up  his  father's 
estate,  had  not  settled  his  accounts  regularly  in 
the  probate  court.  "  Oh,  I  know  how  that  was," 
he  replied ;  "  he  settled  'em  the  other  way.  You 
see,  he  went  to  the  college  at  Woonsocket,  and 
he  learned  there  how  to  settle  accounts  the  other 
way :  and  that 's  the  way  he  settled  'em."  And 
then  he  added,  "When  Alvin  left  the  college,  they 
giv'  him  a  book  that  tells  how  to  do  all  kinds  of 
business,  and  what  you  want  to  do  so  's  to  make 
money;  and  Alvin  has  always  followed  them 
rules.  The  consequence  is,  he's  made  money, 
and  what  he  's  made,  he  's  kep'  it.  I  suppose  he  's 
worth  not  less  than  sixteen  hundred  dollars." 

.Sometimes  he  would  venture  a  remark  of  a 
gallant  nature.  "  They  don't  generally  git  the 
lights  in  the  hall  so  as  to  suit  me,"  he  once  said. 
"  I  don't  want  it  too  light,  because  then  it  hurts 
my  eyes ;  but  I  want  it  light  enough  so  as  't  I 
can  see  the  women  !  " 


BY  THE   SEA.  185 

James  was  a  large,  strong  man,  but  Mrs.  Par- 
sons, although  she  was  little  and  slight,  and  was 
always  ailing,  constantly  assumed  the  role  of  her 
husband's  nurse  and  protector,  not  only  in 
household  matters,  but  in  other  affairs  of  life. 
Whenever  she  had  visitors,  —  and  she  and 
James  were  hospitable  in  the  extreme, —  she 
was  pretty  sure  to  end  up,  sooner  or  later,  if 
James  were  present,  with  some  droll  criticism 
of  him,  as  much  to  his  delight  as  to  hers. 

James  sometimes  liked  to  affect  a  certain 
harshness  of  demeanor ;  but  the  disguise  was  a 
transparent  one.  How  well  do  I  remember  the 
time  —  oh,  so  long  ago  ! — when  for  some  reason 
or  other  I  happened  to  have  his  boat  instead  of 
my  own,  one  day,  with  one  of  the  boys  of  the  vil- 
lage, to  go  to  Matamet,  twelve  miles  off,  to  visit 
certain  lobster-pots  which  we  had  set.  We  were 
delayed  there  by  breaking  our  boom,  in  jibing. 
We  should  have  been  at  home  at  noon  ;  at  seven 
in  the  evening  we  were  not  yet  in  sight.  When 
we  got  in,  rather  crestfallen  at  our  disaster,  par- 
ticularly as  the  boat  was  wanted  for  the  next 
day,  James  met  us  at  the  pier.  We  were  boys 
then,  and  his  tongue  was  free.  As  he  stood 


1 86  BY  THE   SEA. 

there  on  the  shore,  bare-headed,  hastily  sum- 
moned from  his  house,  with  his  hair  blowing  in 
the  wind,  waving  his  hands  and  addressing  first 
us  and  then  a  knot  of  men  who  stood  smoking 
by,  no  words  of  censure  were  too  harsh,  no 
comment  on  our  carelessness  too  cutting,  no 
laments  too  keen  over  the  irreparable  loss  of 
that  particular  boom.  The  next  time  I  could 
take  my  own  boat,  if  I  were  going  to  get  cast 
away.  And  I  remember  well  how  he  ended  his 
tirade.  "  I  did  n't  care  nothing  about  you  two," 
he  said.  "  If  you  want  to  git  drownded,  git 
drownded;  it  ain't  nothing  to  me.  All  I  was 
afraid  of  was  that  you  'd  gone  and  capsized  my 
boat,  and  would  n't  never  turn  up  to  tell  where 
you  sunk  her.  But  as  for  you  — "  and  he 
laughed  a  laugh  of  heartless  indifference. 

But  ten  minutes  later,  and  right  before  his 
face,  at  his  own  front  gate,  Mrs.  Parsons  be- 
trayed him.  "  I  never  see  father  so  worried," 
she  said,  "  sence  the  time  he  heard  about 
Thomas ;  why,  he  's  spent  the  whole  afternoon 
as  nervous  as  a  hawk,  going  up  on  the  hill 
with  his  spy-glass ;  and  I  don't  feel  so  sure  but 
what  he  was  crying.  He  said  he  did  n't  care 


BY  THE   SEA.  l8/ 

nothing  about  the  boat,  —  '  What 's  that  old 
boat !  '  says  he ;  but  if  you  boys  was  drownded 
out  of  her,  he  would  n't  never  git  over  it."  At 
which  James,  being  so  unmasked,  laughed  in  a 
shamefaced  way,  and  shook  us  by  the  shoulders. 
He  had  a  son  who  carried  on  some  sort  of 
half-maritime  business  on  one  of  the  wharves, 
in  the  city,  and  lived  over  his  shop.  When 
James  went  at  intervals  to  visit  him,  he  made 
his  way  at  once  from  the  railway  station  to  the 
nearest  wharf;  then  he  followed  the  line  of 
the  water  around  to  the  shop.  Where  jib- 
booms  project  out  over  the  sidewalk,  one  feels 
so  thoroughly  at  home !  From  the  shop  he 
would  make  short  adventurous  excursions  up 
Commercial  Street  and  State  Street,  sometimes 
going  no  farther  than  the  nautical-instrument 
store  on  the  corner  of  Broad  Street,  sometimes 
venturing  to  Washington  Street,  or  even  moving 
for  a  short  distance  up  or  down  in  the  current 
of  that  gay  thoroughfare.  He  loved  to  com- 
ment satirically  on  the  city,  with  a  broad  humor- 
ous sense  of  his  own  strangeness  there.  "  The 
city  folks  don't  seem  to  have  nothing  to  do,"  he 
said.  "  They  seem  to  be  all  out,  walking  up 


1 88  BY  THE   SEA. 

and  down  the  streets.  Come  noon,  I  thought 
there 'd  be  some  let-up  for  dinner;  but  they 
didn't  seem  to  want  nothing  to  eat;  they  kep' 
right  on  walking." 

I  must  not  leave  James  Parsons  without  tell- 
ing you  of  two  whale's  teeth  which  stand  on 
his  parlor  mantel-piece;  he  ornamented  them 
himself,  copying  the  designs  from  cheap  for- 
eign prints.  One  of  them  is  what  he  calls  "the 
meeting-house."  It  is  the  high  altar  of  the  Cathe- 
dral of  Seville.  On  the  other  is  "the  wild-beast 
tamer."  A  man  with  a  feeble,  wishy-washy 
expression  holds  by  each  hand  a  fierce,  but 
subjugated  tiger.  His  legs  dangle  loosely  in  the 
air.  There  is  nothing  to  suggest  what  upholds 
him  in  his  mighty  contest. 


II. 

Now  we  must  turn  from  James  Parsons  to  a 
man  of  a  different  type,  or  rather  of  a  different 
variety  of  the  same  type;  for  they  descend 
alike  from  original  founders  of  the  town,  and, 
like  most  of  their  fellow-townsmen,  are  both  of 
unqualified  Pilgrim  stock. 


BY  THE   SEA.  189 

To  get  to  Captain  Joseph  Pelham's  house, 
you  have  to  drive  along  a  range  of  hills  for  some 
miles,  skirting  the  sea ;  then  you  come,  half-way, 
to  a  bright  modern  village  with  trees  along  the 
main  street,  with  houses  and  fences  kept  painted 
up,  for  the  most  part,  but  here  and  there  relieved 
by  an  unpainted  dwelling  of  a  past  generation. 

Here  you  have  an  option.  You  may  either 
pursue  your  road  through  the  high-lying  pros- 
perous street,  with  peeps  of  salt  water  to  the 
right,  or  you  may  turn  sharply  off  at  a  little 
store  and  descend  to  the  lower  road.  It  is 
always  a  struggle  to  choose. 

The  road  to  the  beach  descends  a  sharp, 
gravelly  hill,  and  crosses  a  bridge.  Then  you 
come  out  on  a  waste  of  salt-marsh,  threaded  by 
the  creek,  broken  by  wild,  fantastic  sand-hills, 
grown  over  by  beach-grass  which  will  cut  your 
fingers  like  a  knife.  You  drive  close  along  the 
white,  precipitous  beach;  you  pass  the  long, 
shaky  pier,  with  half-decayed  fish-houses  at  the 
other  end,  and  picturesque  heaps  of  fish-cars, 
seines,  and  barrels.  Then  the  road,  following  the 
shore  a  little  longer,  climbs  the  hill  and  enters 
the  woods.  Two  miles  more  and  you  come 


190  BY  THE   SEA. 

out  to  fields  with  mossy  fences,  and  occasional 
houses. 

The  houses  begin  to  be  more  frequent.  All 
at  once  you  enter  the  main  street  of  W . 

In  a  moment  you  see  that  you  have  come 
into  a  new  atmosphere.  There  is  a  large  mod- 
ern church  among  the  older  ones.  There  are 
large,  fine  houses,  some  old-fashioned,  others 
new.  By  some  miraculous  intervention  Queen 
Anne  has  not  as  yet  made  her  appearance. 
There  are  handsome,  well-filled  stores,  going  into 
no  little  refinement  in  stock.  There  is,  of  course, 
a  small  brick  library,  built  by  the  bounty  of  a 
New  Yorker  who  was  born  here.  There  is  a 
brick  national  bank,  and  a  face  brick  block 
occupied  above  by  Freemasons,  orders  of  Red 
Men,  Knights  Templars,  and  the  Pool  of  Siloani 
Lodge,  I.  O.  O.  F.,  and  below  by  a  savings 
bank  and  a  local  marine  insurance  company. 

It  is  here  that  we  shall  find  Captain  Joseph 
Pelham.  If  a  stranger  has  occasion  to  inquire 
for  the  leading  men  of  the  place  he  is  always 
first  referred  to  him.  It  is  he  who  heads  every 
list  and  is  the  chairman  of  every  meeting. 
When  a  certain  public  man,  commanding  but 


BY  THE   SEA.  TQI 

a  small  following  here,  appeared,  upon  his 
campaign  tour,  and  found  no  one  to  escort  him 
to  the  platform  and  preside,  so  that  he  was 
obliged  to  justify  his  appearance  here  by  the 
Scripture  passage,  "  They  that  are  whole  need 
not  a  physician,  but  they  that  are  sick ;  "  at  the 
moment  of  entering  the  hall,  closely  packed 
with  curious  opponents,  disposed  perhaps  to  be 
derisive  when  the  situation  for  the  visitor  was. 
embarrassing  in  the  extreme,  —  it  was  Captain 
Joseph  Pelham  who,  though  the  bitterest  oppo- 
nent of  them  all,  rose  from  his  seat,  gave  the 
speaker  his  arm,  escorted  him  to  the  platform, 
presented  him  with  grave  courtesy  to  the  audi- 
ence, and  sat  beside  him  through  the  entire 
discourse. 

While  Captain  Pelham  continued  to  go  to  sea, 
and  after  that,  until  he  was  made  president  of 
the  insurance  company,  he  lived  a  mile  or  two 
out  of  the  town,  in  a  house  he  had  inherited. 
It  is  picturesquely  situated,  on  a  bare  hill,  with 
a  wide  view  of  the  inland  and  the  ocean.  As 
you  look  down  from  its  south  windows,  the 
cluster  of  houses  nestling  together  at  the  shore 
below  stand  sharply  out  against  the  water.  It 


192  BY  THE   SEA. 

is  one  of  those  white  houses  common  in  our 
older  towns, — two-storied,  long  on  the  street, 
with  the  front  door  in  the  middle.  Of  the  in- 
terior it  is  enough  to  say  that  its  owner  had 
sailed  for  thirty  years  to  Hong-Kong,  Cal- 
cutta and  Madras.  It  had  a  prevailing  odor 
of  teak  and  lacquer.  In  the  front  hall  was  a 
vast  china  cane-holder;  a  turretted  Calcutta 
hat  hung  on  the  hat-tree ;  a  heavy,  varnished 
Chinese  umbrella  stood  in  a  corner;  a  long  and 
handsome  settee  from  Java  stood  against  the 
wall.  In  the  parlors,  on  either  hand,  were  Chi- 
nese tables  shutting  up  like  telescopes,  elaborate 
rattan  chairs  of  different  kinds,  and  numberless 
other  things  of  this  sort,  which  had  plainly  been 
honestly  come  by,  and  not  bought. 

Then,  if  you  met  the  Captain's  favor,  he 
would  show  you  with  becoming  pride  some 
family  relics,  and  tell  you  about  them.  They 
came  mostly  from  his  paternal  grandfather,  who 
was  a  shipmaster  too,  had  commanded  a  priva- 
teer in  the  Revolution,  and  made  a  fortune. 
There  were  a  number  of  pieces  of  handsome 
furniture,  —  these  you  could  see  for  yourself. 
What  would  be  shown  you,  with  a  half-diffident 


BY  THE   SEA.  193 

air,  would  be:  a  silver  mug;  two  Revere  table- 
spoons ;  a  few  tiny  teaspoons  marked  F. ;  a 
handsome  sword  and  scabbard ;  a  yellow  satin 
waistcoat  and  small-clothes;  portraits,  not  ar- 
tistic, but  effective,  of  his  grandfather,  in  a 
velvet  coat  and  knee-breeches,  with  a  long  spy- 
glass in  his  hand,  and  of  his  grandmother, 
a  strong,  matter-of-fact  looking  woman,  hand- 
somely dressed. 

But  the  thing  which  the  Captain  secretly 
treasured  most,  but  brought  out  last,  was  his 
grandmother's  Dutch  Bible.  It  is  a  curious  old 
book ;  you  can  see  it  still  if  you  wish.  It  has 
an  elaborate  frontispiece.  Sixteen  cuts  of  lead- 
ing incidents  in  Scripture  history  conduct  you 
by  gentle  stages,  from  Eden,  through  the  offer- 
ing of  Isaac,  to  the  close  of  the  Evangelists,  and 
surround  Dr.  Martin  Luther,  who,  in  a  gown, 
holds  back  the  curtains  of  a  pillared  alcove,  to 
show  you,  through  two  windows,  an  Old  and 
a  New  Testament  landscape,  and  a  lady  sitting 
beneath  a  canopy,  with  an  open  volume.  The 
covers  are  of  thick  bevelled  board  covered  with 
leather.  There  was  once  a  heavy  clasp.  The 
edges  are  richly  gilded,  and  figures  are  pricked 


194  BY  THE  SEA- 

in  the  gilding.  It  is  very  handsomely  printed. 
It  was  in  the  possession,  in  1760,  of  a  young 
New  England  girl,  the  Captain's  grandmother. 
There  is  a  story  about  it,  —  a  story  too  long  to 
tell  here.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  the  Captain's 
ancestor,  who  settled  early  in  New  England, 
came  from  Leyden  shortly  after  Mr.  John  Robin- 
son. A  hundred  years  later  and  more,  in  the 
oddest  way,  an  acquaintance  sprang  up  with  cer- 
tain Dutch  connections,  and  in  the  course  of  it 
this  Bible,  then  new  and  elegant,  found  its  way 
over  the  sea  as  a  gift  to  young  Mistress  Preston. 
In  New  England,  and  as  a  relic  of  the  early 
ties  of  our  people  with  Holland,  momentarily 
renewed  after  a  century  had  passed  away,  it  is 
probably  unique.  It  was  a  last  farewell  from 
Holland  to  her  English  children,  before  she 
parted  company  with  them  forever. 

I  have  told  you  about  this  house,  as  I  recall 
it,  although  Captain  Pelham  had  now  ceased  to 
live  there,  because  it  was  there  alone  that  he 
seemed  completely  at  home.  Furnished  as  it 
was  from  the  four  quarters  of  the  globe,  every- 
thing seemed  to  fit  in  with  his  ways.  He  sup- 
plemented the  Chinese  tables,  and  they  supple- 


BY  THE   SEA.  195 

merited  him.  But  when  he  ceased  to  go  to  sea, 
in  late  middle  life,  and  settled  down  at  home 
upon  his  competency,  and  began  a  little  later  to 
become  interested  in  public  matters  ;  when  he 
was  at  last  made  president  of  the  insurance  com- 
pany, a  director  in  the  bank,  and  a  trustee  in 
the  savings  bank,  and  when  affairs  were  left  more 
and  more  to  his  control,  it  became  convenient 
for  him  to  get  into  town  ;  and  his  wife  and  daugh- 
ter were  perhaps  ambitious  for  the  change. 

So  he  had  sold  his  house  by  the  sea,  and  had 
bought  a  large  and  somewhat  pretentious  one 
on  the  main  street,  with  a  cast-iron  summer 
arbor,  and  a  bay-window  closed  in  for  a  conser- 
vatory. He  had  furnished  it  from  the  city  with 
new  Brussels  carpet,  with  a  parlor  set,  a  sitting- 
room  set,  a  dining-room  set,  and  chamber  sets; 
and  the  antique  things  which  had  given  his  for- 
mer home  an  air  of  charming  picturesqueness 
were  for  the  most  part  tucked  away  in  unnoticed 
corners. 

The  Captain  never  seemed  to  me  to  have 
become  quite  naturalized  in  his  new  home.  He 
never  belonged  to  the  furniture,  or  the  furniture 
to  him.  The  place  where  you  saw  him  best  in 


BY  THE   SEA. 

these  later  days  was  in  the  office  of  his  insurance 
company,  or  in  the  little  business-room  of  one 
of  the  banks,  surrounded  by  a  knot  of  more 
substantial  townsmen,  or  talking  patiently  with 
some  small  farmer  or  seafaring  man  seeking  for 
insurance  or  a  loan.  One  of  the  most  marked  fea- 
tures of  his  character  was  a  certain  patience  and 
considerateness  which  made  all  borrowers  apply 
by  preference  to  him.  He  would  sit  down  at  his 
little  table  with  a  plain  man  whose  affairs  were 
in  disorder,  and  listen  with  close  attention  to  his 
application  for  a  loan.  Somehow  the  man 
would  find  himself  disclosing  all  the  particulars 
of  his  distress.  Then  Captain  Pelham,  in  his 
quiet  way,  would  go  over  the  whole  matter  with 
him ;  would  plan  with  him  on  his  concerns ; 
would  try  to  see  if  it  were  not  possible  to  post- 
pone a  little  the  payment  of  debts  and  to  hasten 
the  collection  of  claims;  to  get  a  part  of  the 
money  for  a  short  time  from  a  son  in  Boston 
or  a  married  daughter  in  New  Bedford ;  and  so, 
by  pulling  and  hauling,  to  weather  the  Cape. 

I  must  say  a  word  about  his  position  in  town 
matters.  He  had  been  at  sea  the  greater  part  of 
the  time  from  sixteen  to  fifty-two.  During  that 


BY  THE   SEA.  1 97 

time  he  had  had  absolutely  no  concern  with 
political  affairs.  He  had  never  voted :  for  he 
had  never,  as  it  had  happened,  been  ashore  at 
the  time  of  an  election.  And  yet  before  he 
had  been  at  home  six  years  he  was  one  of  the 
selectmen  of  the  town  and  overseer  of  the  poor, 
and  had  become  familiar  with  the  details  of 
Massachusetts  town  government,  superficially 
so  simple,  in  fact  so  complex.  It  was  a  large 
town,  of  no  small  wealth.  Lying  as  it  did 
along  the  seaboard,  where  havoc  was  always 
being  made  by  disasters  of  the  sea,  there  was 
not  only  a  larger  number  than  in  an  inland  town 
of  persons  actually  quartered  in  the  poorhouse, 
but  there  were  many  broken  families  who  had 
to  be  helped  in  their  own  homes.  And  it  was 
to  me  an  interesting  fact  that  in  dealing  with 
two  score  households  of  this  class,  Captain  Pel- 
ham,  who  had  spent  most  of  his  time  at  sea,  was 
able  to  display  the  utmost  tact  and  judgment. 
He  applied  to  their  affairs  that  same  plain  kind- 
liness and  sound  sense  which  he  showed  in  the 
matter  of  discounts  at  the  bank. 

While  the  friendships  of  Captain  Pelham  were 
chiefly  in  his  own  town,  his  acquaintance  was  not 


198  BY  THE   SEA. 

confined  to  it.  In  his  own  quiet,  unpretending 
way  he  was  something  of  a  man  of  the  world. 
He  was  known  in  the  marine  insurance  offices 
in  the  large  cities.  He  had  been  familiar  all  his 
life  with  large  affairs ;  he  had  commanded  valu- 
able ships,  loaded  with  fortunes  in  teas  and 
silks,  in  the  days  when  an  India  captain  was  a 
merchant. 


III. 

You  will  ask  me  why  it  is  that  I  have  been 
telling  you  about  these  men,  and  what  it  is  that 
connects  them. 

It  was  now  ten  years  since  Captain  Pelham's 
only  son,  himself  at  twenty-two  the  master  of  a 
vessel,  had  married  a  daughter  of  James  Parsons, 
—  a  tall,  impulsive,  and  warm-hearted  girl,  —  one 
of  those  girls  to  whom  children  always  cling. 
Both  James  Parsons's  daughters  had  proved  at- 
tractive and  had  married  well.  It  had  been  a 
disappointment  in  Captain  Pelham's  household, 
perhaps,  that  this  son,  their  especial  pride,  should 
not  have  married  into  one  of  the  wealthy  fami- 
lies in  his  own  village.  At  first  there  had  been 


BY   THE   SEA.  199 

a  little  visiting  to  and  fro ;  it  had  lasted  but  a 
little  time,  and  then  the  two  households  had 
settled  down,  as  the  way  is  in  the  country,  to 
follow  each  its  own  natural  course  of  living. 
George  Pelham's  wife  had  always  lived  in  an 
odd  little  house,  all  doors  and  windows,  near  by 
her  father,  in  her  native  village. 

It  was  from  Porto  Cabello  that  that  message 
came,  —  yellow  fever — a  short  sickness  —  a 
burial  in  a  stranger's  grave.  George  Pelham's 
wife  had  been  for  two  or  three  years  of  less  than 
her  usual  strength.  It  was  not  long  after  that 
news  came,  —  came  so  suddenly,  with  no  warn- 
ing, —  that  she  began  to  fade  away ;  and  after 
ten  months  she  died. 

I  remember  seeing  her  a  week  or  two  before 
her  death.  Her  bed  had  been  set  up  in  her 
little  parlor  for  the  convenience  of  those  who 
were  attending  upon  her.  She  lay  on  her  back, 
bolstered  up.  The  paleness  of  her  face  was  in- 
tensified by  her  coal-black  hair,  lying  back  heavy 
on  the  pillow.  Her  hands  were  thin  and  trans- 
parent, and  I  remember  well  the  straining  look 
in  her  eyes  as  she  talked  with  me  about  the  boy 
whom  she  was  going  to  leave. 


200  BY  THE   SEA. 

She  was  living,  as  I  have  said,  close  by  her 
father.  It  was  natural  that  in  the  last  few  days 
of  her  illness  the  child  should  be  taken  to  her 
father's  house,  and  when  she  died  and  the  funeral 
was  over,  it  was  there  that  he  returned. 

Picture  now  to  yourself  a  boy  toward  nine 
years  old,  symmetrically  made,  firm  and  hard. 
His  head  is  round,  his  features  are  good,  his 
hair  is  fine  and  lies  down  close.  He  is  clothed 
in  a  neat  print  jacket,  with  a  collar  and  a  little 
handkerchief  at  the  neck,  and  a  pair  of  short 
trousers  buttoned  on  to  the  jacket.  He  is 
barefoot.  He  is  tanned  but  not  burnt.  His 
complexion  is  of  a  rich  dark  brown.  He  is 
always  fresh  and  clean.  But  the  great  charm 
about  him  is  the  expression  of  infinite  fun  and 
mirth  that  is  always  upon  his  face.  Never  for 
a  moment  while  he  is  awake  is  his  face  still. 
Always  the  same,  yet  always  shifting,  with  a 
thousand  varying  shades  of  roguish  joy.  Quick, 
bright,  full  of  boyish  repartee,  full  of  shouts  and 
laughter.  And  the  same  incessant  life  which 
plays  upon  his  face  shows  itself  in  every  move- 
ment of  his  limbs.  Never  for  a  moment  is  he 


BY  THE   SEA.  2OI 

still  unless  he  has  some  work  upon  his  hands. 
He  has  his  little  routine  of  tasks,  regularly 
assigned,  which  he  goes  through  with  the  most 
amusing  good-humor  and  attention.  It  is  his 
duty  to  see  that  the  skiffs  are  not  jammed 
under  the  wharf  on  the  rising  tide;  to  sweep 
out  the  "  Annie"  when  shetcomes  in,  and  to  set 
her  cabin  to  rights ;  to  set  away  the  dishes  after 
meals,  and  to  feed  the  chickens.  Aside  from  a' 
few  such  tasks,  his  time  in  summer  is  his  own. 
The  rest  of  the  year  he  goes  to  the  "  primary," 
and  serves  to  keep  the  whole  room  in  a  state  of 
mirth.  He  has  the  happy  gift  that  to  put  every 
one  in  high  spirits  he  has  only  to  be  present. 
Such  an  incessant  flow  of  life  you  rarely  see. 
His  manners  are  good,  and  he  comes  honestly 
by  them. 

There  is  an  amusing  union  in  him  of  the 
baby  and  the  man.  While  the  children  of  his 
age  at  the  summer  hotel  walk  about  for  the 
most  part  with  their  nurses,  he  is  turned  loose 
upon  the  shore,  and  has  been,  from  his  cradle. 
He  can  dive  and  swim  and  paddle  and  float 
and  "  go  steamboat."  He  can  row  a  boat  that  is 
not  too  heavy,  and  up  to  the  limit  of  his  strength 


202  BY  THE   SEA. 

he  can  steer  a  sail-boat  with  substantial  skill. 
He  knows  the  currents,  the  tides,  and  the  shoals 
about  his  shore,  and  the  nearer  landmarks.  He 
knows  that  to  find  the  threadlike  entrance  to 
the  bay  you  bring  the  flag-staff  over  Cart- 
wright's  barn.  He  has  vague  theories  of  his 
own  as  to  the  annual  shifting  of  the  channel. 
He  knows  where  to  take  the  city  children  to 
look  for  tinkle-shells  and  mussels.  He  knows 
what  winds  bring  in  the  scallops  from  their 
beds.  He  knows  where  to  dig  for  clams,  and 
where  to  tread  for  quahaugs  without  disturbing 
the  oysters.  He  has  a  good  deal  of  fragmentary 
lore  of  the  sea. 

Every  morning  you  will  hear  his  cry,  a  sort 
of  yodel,  or  bird-call,  peculiar  to  him,  with  which 
he  bursts  forth  upon  the  world.  Then  you  will 
hear,  perhaps,  loud  peals  of  laughter  at  some- 
thing that  has  excited  his  sense  of  the  absurd, 
—  contagious  laughter,  full  of  innocent  fun. 

Then  he  will  appear,  perhaps,  with  his  wooden 
dinner-bucket,  —  he  is  going  off  with  his  grand- 
father for  the  day,  —  and  will  yodel  to  the  old  man 
as  a  signal  to  make  haste.  Then  you  will  hear 
him  consulting  with  some  one  upon  the  weather. 


BY  THE   SEA.  2O3 

All  this  time  he  will  be  going  through  various, 
evolutions,  swinging  in  the  hammock,  sitting  on 
the  fence,  opening  his  bucket  to  show  you  what 
he  has  to  eat,  closing  the  bucket  and  sitting 
down  upon  the  cover,  or  turning  somersaults 
upon  the  grass.  Then  he  will  encamp  under  an 
apple-tree  to  wait  until  his  grandfather  appears, 
enlivening  the  time  by  a  score  of  minute  excur- 
sions after  hens  and  cats.  Then  he  will  go  into 
the  house  again,  and  rock  while  the  old  man 
finishes  his  coffee,  sure  of  a  greeting,  confident 
in  a  sense  of  entire  good-fellowship,  until  the 
meal  is  finished,  and  James  Parsons  is  ready  to 
take  his  coat  and  a  red-bladed  oar,  and  set  out. 
Then  the  boy  is  like  a  setter  off  for  a  walk,  — 
all  sorts  of  whimsical  expressions  in  his  face, 
of  absolute  delight ;  every  form  of  extravagance 
in  his  bearing.  The  only  trouble  is,  one  has  to 
laugh  too  much ;  but  with  all  this,  something 
so  manly,  so  companionable. 

He  is  no  little  of  a  philosopher  in  his  way. 
He  has  been  a  great  deal  with  older  people,  and 
has  caught  the  habit  of  discussion  of  affairs,  or 
rather,  perhaps,  of  unconsciously  reflecting  forth 
discussions  which  he  has  heard.  He  has  an 


204  BY  THE  SEA- 

.  infinite  curiosity  upon  all  matters  of  human  life. 
He  likes,  within  limits,  to  discuss  character. 

In  the  boat  his  chief  delights  are  to  talk,  to 
eat  cookies,  and  to  steer.  When  it  is  not  blow- 
ing too  hard  for  him  to  stand  at  the  tiller,  he 
will  steer  for  an  hour  together,  watching  with 
the  most  constant  care  the  trembling  of  the 
leach. 

It  makes  no  difference  to  him  at  what  hour  he 
returns,  —  from  oystering  or  from  the  cranberry- 
bog.  If  it  is  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon, 
good  and  well.  Instantly  upon  landing  he  will 
collect  a  troop  of  urchins  ;  in  an  incredibly 
short  space  of  time  there  will  be  a  heap  of  little 
clothes  upon  the  bank ;  in  a  moment  a  proces- 
sion of  small  naked  figures  will  go  running  down 
to  the  wharf,  diving,  one  after  the  other.  If  dis- 
tance or  tide  or  a  calm  keeps  him  out  late,  so 
much  the  better.  In  that  case  there  is  the  ro- 
mance of  coasting  along  the  shore  by  night ;  of 
counting  and  distinguishing  the  lights  ;  of  guess- 
ing the  nearness  to  land  from  the  dull  roar  of 
the  sea  breaking  on  the  beach.  "  Don't  you 
think,"  he  will  sometimes  say,  "  that  we  are 
nearer  shore  than  we  think  we  are?" 


BY  THE   SEA.  205 

It  is  amusing  sometimes,  on  a  distant  voyage 
of  fifteen  or  twenty  miles,  after  seed  oysters, 
when  a  landing  is  made  at  some  little  port,  to 
see  him  drop  the  mariner  at  once  and  become 
a  child,  with  a  burning  desire  to  find  a  shop 
where  he  can  buy  animal-crackers.  Finding 
such  a  place,  —  and  usually  it  is  not  difficult,  — 
he  will  lay  in  a  supply  of  lions  and  tigers,  and 
then  go  marching  about  with  great  delight,  with 
mockery  in  his  eyes,  keenly  appreciating  the 
satire  involved  in  eating  the  head  off  a  cooky 
lion,  incapable  of  resistance. 

• 

No  picture  of  Joe  would  be  complete  which 
left  out  his  dog.  Kit  was  a  black,  fine-haired 
creature,  smaller  than  a  collie,  but  of  much  the 
same  gentle  disposition,  —  a  present  from  Cap- 
tain Pelham.  When  Kit  was  first  presented  to 
the  boy  he  domesticated  himself  at  once,  and 
in  a  week  it  was  impossible  to  tell,  from  his  re- 
lations with  the  household,  which  was  boy  and 
which  was  dog.  They  were  both  boys  and  they 
were  both  dogs.  Kit  had  an  unqualified  sense 
of  being  at  home,  and  of  being  beloved  and  in- 
dispensable. It  was  long  before  he  became  a 


206  BY  THE   SEA. 

sailor.  When,  at  the  outset,  it  was  attempted 
to  make  a  man  of  him  by  taking  him  when 
they  went  out  to  fish,  the  failure  seemed  to  be 
complete.  He  was  a  little  sea-sick.  Then  he 
was  sad,  and  sighed  and  groaned  as  dogs  never 
do  on  shore.  He  would  not  lie  still,  but  was 
nervous  and  feverish.  Once  he  leaped  out  of 
the  boat  and  made  for  shore,  and  had  to  be  pur- 
sued and  rescued,  exhausted  and  half-drowned. 
Still,  whenever  he  had  to  be  left  at  home,  it  was 
a  struggle  every  time  to  reconcile  him  and  leave 
him.  Once  he  pursued  a  boat  which  he  mis- 
took for  James's  along  the  shore  of  the  bay,  half 
down  to  Benson's  Narrows,  got  involved  in  the 
creeks  which  the  tide  was  beginning  to  fill,  and 
had  to  be  brought  ingloriously  home  by  a 
farmer,  made  fast  on  the  top  of  a  load  of  sweet, 
salt  hay. 

He  would  tease  like  a  child  to  be  allowed  to 
go.  He  would  listen  with  an  unsatisfied  and 
appealing  look  while  Joe,  with  an  exuberant 
but  regretful  air,  explained  to  him  in  detail  the 
reasons  which  made  it  impossible  for  him  to  go. 
But  in  a  few  months,  as  the  dog  grew  older,  he 
prevailed,  and  although  he  would  generally  re- 


BY  THE   SEA.  2O/ 

tire  into  the  shelter  of  the  cabin,  he  was  never- 
theless the  boy's  almost  inseparable  companion 
on  the  water  as  on  the  shore.  The  relation  be- 
tween the  two  was  always  touching.  It  evidently 
never  crossed  the  dog's  mind  that  he  was  not 
a  younger  brother. 

Now,  to  complete  the  picture  of  James  Par- 
sons's  household,  add  in  this  boy;  for  while  it 
is  but  just  now  that  he  is  strictly  of  it,  he  has 
been  for  years  its  mirth  and  life. 

I  remember  that  quiet  household  before  it 
knew  him,  —  cosey,  homelike,  with  a  pervading 
air  even  then  of  genial  humor,  but  with  long 
hours  of  silence  and  repose,  —  geraniums  and 
the  click  of  knitting-needles  in  the  sitting-room ; 
faint  odors  of  a  fragrant  pipe  from  the  shed 
kitchen ;  no  stir  of  boisterous  fun,  except  when 
some  bronzed,  solemn  joker,  with  his  wife,  came 
in  for  a  formal  call,  and  solemnity  gave  way, 
by  a  gradual  descent,  to  merriment.  Joe  had 
given  no  new  departure,  only  an  impulse. 
"  James  used  to  behave  himself  quite  well,"  Mrs. 
Parsons  would  say,  archly  raising  her  eyebrows, 
"  before  Joe's  time ;  but  now  there  's  two  boys 


2O8  BY  THE   SEA. 

of  'em  together,  and  the  one  as  bad  as  the  other, 
and  I  can't  do  nothing  with  'em.  And  then," 
—  with  a  mock  gesture  of  despair,  —  "  that 
dog!" 

IV. 

WHILE  Joe's  mother  was  lying  ill,  and  after 
it  had  become  certain  that  she  would  soon  leave 
this  world  forever,  the  question  had  been  freely 
discussed  as  to  what  her  boy's  future  should  be. 
In  Captain  Joseph  Pelham's  mind  there  was  only 
one  answer  to  this  question,  —  that  the  lad  should 
come  to  him.  He  bore  the  Captain's  name  ;  he 
represented  the  Captain's  son  ;  he  should  take  a 
place  now  in  the  Captain's  home. 

It  was  now  about  three  weeks  since  Joe's 
m'other  had  been  buried.  The  stone  had  not 
yet  been  cut  and  set  over  her  grave.  But  the 
Captain  thought  it  time  to  drive  over  to  James 
Parsons's  and  take  the  boy.  That  James  would 
make  any  serious  opposition  perhaps  never 
entered  his  mind.  It  was  a  bright,  charming 
afternoon;  with  his  shining  horse,  in  a  bright, 
well-varnished  buggy,  the  Captain  drove  over 
the  seven  miles  of  winding  roads  through  the 


BY  THE   SEA.  2OO, 

woods,  and  along  the  sea,  to  the  village  where 
James  Parsons  lived.  He  tied  his  horse  to  the 
hitching-post  in  front  of  the  broad  cottage  house, 
went  down  the  path  to  the  L  door,  knocked,  and 
went  in. 

James  was  sitting  in  a  large  room  which 
served  in  winter  as  a  kitchen  and  in  summer 
as  a  sort  of  sitting-room,  smoking  a  pipe  and 
gazing  vacantly  into  the  pine-branches  in  the 
open  fireplace  before  him.  He  had  been  out 
all  day  on  his  marsh,  but  he  had  been  home  a 
couple  of  hours.  His  wife  —  kindly  soul  —  re- 
ceived Captain  Pelham  at  the  door,  wiping  her 
hands  upon  her  apron,  and  modestly  showed 
him  into  the  sitting-room  ;  then  she  retired  to  her 
tasks  in  the  shed  kitchen.  She  moved  about 
mechanically  for  a  moment;  then  she  ran  has- 
tily out  into  the  lean-to  wood-shed,  shut  the  door 
behind  her,  sat  down  on  the  worn  floor  where  it 
gives  way  with  a  step  to  the  floor  of  earth  by  the 
wood-pile,  hid  her  face  in  her  apron,  and  burst 
into  tears. 

Joe  was  at  the  wharf  with  his  comrades  play- 
ing at  war. 

Now,  if  there  ever  was  a  hospitable  man,  —  a 
14 


2IO  BY  THE   SEA. 

man  who  gave  a  welcome,  —  a  rough  but  merry 
welcome  to  every  one  who  entered  his  doors,  it 
was  James  Parsons.  He  had  a  homely,  jocose 
saying  that  you  must  either  make  yourself  at 
home  or  go  home.  But  on  this  occasion  he 
rose  with  a  somewhat  forced  and  awkward  air, 
laid  his  pipe  down  on  the  mantel-piece,  and 
nodded  to  the  Captain  with  an  air  of  embar- 
rassed inquiry.  Then  he  bethought  himself, 
and  asked  the  Captain  to  sit  down.  The  Cap- 
tain took  the  nearest  chair,  beside  the  table, 
where  Mrs.  Parsons  had  lately  been  sitting  at 
her  work.  James's  chair  was  directly  opposite. 
The  table  was  between  them. 

James  rose  and  went  to  the  mantel-piece, 
scratched  a  match  upon  his  boot-heel,  and 
undertook  to  light  his  pipe.  It  did  not  light ; 
he  did  not  notice  it,  but  put  the  pipe  in  his 
mouth  as  if  it  were  lighted. 

It  occurred  to  Captain  Pelham  now,  for  the 
first  time,  absorbed  as  he  had  been  with  exclu- 
sive thoughts  of  the  boy,  that  he  should  first 
say  something  to  this  old  man  about  the  daugh- 
ter whom  he  had  lost:  and  he  made  some  ex- 
pressions of  sympathy.  The  old  man  nodded, 
but  said  nothing. 


BY  THE   SEA.  211 

There  was  silence  for  two  or  three  minutes. 

The  subject  in  order  now  was  inevitably  the 
boy.  Captain  Pelham  opened  his  lips  to  claim 
him ;  but,  almost  to  his  own  surprise,  he  found 
himself  making  some  common  remark  about 
the  affairs  of  the  neighborhood.  It  came  in 
harsh  and  forced,  as  if  it  were  a  fragment  of 
conversation  floated  in  by  the  breeze  from  the 
street  outside.  Then  the  Captain  waited  a  mo- 
ment, looking  out  of  the  window. 

James  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth  and 
leaned  his  elbows  on  the  table.  "  Why  don't 
you  go  take  him?"  he  suddenly  said:  "  he  's 
probably  down  to  the  wharf.  Ef  you  have  got 
the  claim  to  him,  why  don't  you  go  take  him? 
You  Ve  got  your  team  here,  —  drive  right  down 
there  and  put  him  in  and  drive  off;  if  you  Ve 
got  the  right  to  him,  why  don't  you  go  take 
him?  But  ef  you  Ve  come  for  my  consent,  you 
can  set  there  till  the  chair  rots  beneath  you." 

With  this,  James  rose  and  took  the  felt  hat 
which  was  lying  by  him  on  the  table,  and  say- 
ing not  another  word,  went  out  of  the  door. 
He  went  down  to  the  shore,  and  affected  to 
busy  himself  with  his  boat. 


212  BY  THE   SEA. 

There  was  nothing  for  Captain  Pelham  to  do 
but  to  take  his  hat,  untie  his  horse,  and  drive 
home. 

The  Captain  well  knew  that  nobody  in  the 
world  had  a  legal  right  to  the  child  until  a 
guardian  should  be  appointed.  A  plain  and 
simple  path  was  open  before  him:  it  was  his 
only  path.  James  Parsons  had  proved  wilful 
and  wrong-headed ;  there  was  nothing  now  but 
to  take  out  letters  as  guardian  of  the  boy.  Then 
James  would  acquiesce  without  a  word. 

Immediately  after  breakfast  the  Captain  went 
down  the  street.  He  opened  his  letters  and 
attended  to  the  first  routine  of  business;  then 
he  went  across  the  way  and  up  a  flight  of  stairs 
to  a  lawyer's  office. 

If  you  had  happened  to  read  the  county  pa- 
pers at  about  this  time,  you  would  have  seen 
among  the  legal  notices  two  petitions,  identical 
in  form,  —  the  one  by  Joseph  Pelham,  the  other 
by  James  Parsons, — each  applying  for  guardian- 
ship of  Joseph  Pelham,  the  younger  of  that 
name,  with  an  order  upon  each  petition  for 
all  persons  interested  to  come  in  on  the  first 


BY  THE   SEA.  213 

Tuesday  of  the  following  month  and  show  cause 
why  the  petitioner's  demand  should  not  be 
granted. 

The  county  court-house  was  a  new  brick 
building,  of  modest  size,  fifteen  miles  from 

W ,  and  twenty  miles  from  the  village  where 

James  Parsons  lived. 

There  were  fifteen  or  twenty  people  from 
different  towns  in  attendance  when  the  court 
opened  on  the  important  first  Tuesday.  As 
one  after  another  transacted  his  affairs  and  went 
away,  others  would  come  in.  Three  or  four 
lawyers  sat  at  tables  talking  with  clients,  or 
stood  about  the  judge's  desk.  There  was  a 
sprinkling  of  women  in  new  mourning.  Printed 
papers,  filled  out  with  names  and  dates,  —  peti- 
tions and  bonds  and  executors'  accounts, — were 
being  handed  in  to  the  judge  and  receiving  his 
signature  of  approval. 

The  routine  business  was  transacted  first. 
It  was  almost  noon  when  the  judge  was  at  last 
free  to  attend  to  contested  matters.  There  was 
a  small  audience  by  that  time,  —  only  ten  or  a 
dozen  people,  some  of  whom  were  waiting  for 


214  BY  THE   SEA. 

train-time,   while  others,  who  had  come  upon 
their  own  affairs,  lingered  now  from  curiosity. 

The  judge  was  a  tall,  spare,  old-fashioned 
man;  he  had  held  the  office  for  above  thirty 
years.  He  was  a  man  of  much  native  force,  of 
sound  learning  within  the  range  of  his  judicial 
duties,  and  of  strong  common-sense.  He  was 
often  employed  by  Captain  Pelham  in  his  own 
affairs,  and  more  particularly  in  bank  and  in- 
surance matters,  —  for  the  probate  judges  are 
free  to  practise  at  the  bar  in  matters  not  con- 
nected with  their  judicial  duties,  —  and  Captain 
Pelham  had  always  retained  him  in  important 
cases  as  counsel  for  the  town.  He  had  a  large 
practice  throughout  the  county;  he  knew  its 
people,  their  ideas,  their  traditions,  and  their 
feelings.  He  understood  their  social  organiza- 
tion to  the  core. 

"Now,"  said  the  judge,  laying  aside  some 
papers  upon  which  he  had  been  writing,  and 
taking  off  his  glasses,  "  we  will  take  up  the  two 
petitions  for  guardianship  of  Joseph  Pelham." 

Captain  Pelham  and  the  lawyer  whom  he  had 
employed  took  seats  at  a  small  table  before  the 
judge;  James  Parsons  timidly  took  a  seat  at 


BY  THE   SEA.  215 

another.    His  petition  had  been  filled  out  for  him 
by  one  of  his  neighbors :   he  had  no  counsel. 

Captain  Pelham's  lawyer  rose;  he  had  been 
impressed  by  the  Captain  with  the  importance 
of  the  matter,  and  he  was  about  to  make  a 
formal  opening.  But  the  judge  interrupted 
him.  "I  think,"  he  said,  "that  we  may  assume 
that  I  know  in  a  general  way  about  these  two 
petitioners.  I  shall  assume,  unless  something 
is  shown  to  the  contrary,  that  they  are  both 
men  of  respectable  character,  and  have  proper 
homes  for  a  boy  to  grow  up  in.  And  I  suppose 
there  is  no  controversy  that  Captain  Pelham  is  a 
man  of  some  considerable  means,  and  that  the 
other  petitioner  is  a  man  of  small  property. 

"Now,"  he  went  on,  leaning  forward  with  his 
elbow  on  his  desk,  and  gently  waving  his  glasses 
with  his  right  hand,  "  did  the  father  of  this  boy 
ever  express  any  wish  as  to  what  should  be 
done  with  him  in  case  his  mother  should  die?" 
Nobody  answered.  "It  would  be  of  no  legal 
effect,"  he  said,  "  but  it  would  have  weight  with 
me.  Now,  is  there  any  evidence  as  to  what  his 
mother  wanted  ?  A  boy's  mother  can  tell  best 
about  these  things,  if  she  is  a  sensible  woman. 


2l6  BY   THE   SEA. 

Mr.  Baker,"  he  said  to  Captain  Pelham's  lawyer, 
"  have  you  any  evidence  as  to  what  his  mother 
wanted  to  have  done  with  him?" 

Mr.  Baker  conversed  for  a  moment  with  Cap- 
tain Pelham  and  then  called  him  to  the  stand. 

Captain  Pelham  testified  as  to  his  frequent 
visits  to  the  boy's  mother,  and  to  Her  unbroken 
friendly  relations  with  him.  She  had  never  said 
in  so  many  words  what  she  wanted  to  have  done 
for  the  boy,  but  he  always  understood  that  she 
meant  to  have  the  child  come  to  him ;  he  could 
not  say,  however,  that  she  had  said  anything 
expressly  to  that  effect. 

James  sat  before  him  not  many  feet  away,  in 
his  old-fashioned  broadcloth  coat  with  a  velvet 
collar.  He  cross-examined  Captain  Pelham  a 
little. 

"  She  did  n't  never  tell  you,"  he  said,  "  that 
she  was  going  to  give  you  the  boy,  did  she?  " 

"  No,  sir;"  said  Captain  Pelham. 

"  How  often  did  your  wife  come  over  to  see 
her?" 

"  I  could  n't  tell  you,  sir,"  said  the  Captain. 

"  Not  very  often,  did  she?  " 

"  I  think  not,"  the  Captain  admitted. 


BY  THE   SEA. 

"  The  boy's  mother  did  n't  never  talk  much 
about  Mis'  Captain  Pelham,  did  she?  " 

"  I  don't  remember  that  she  did." 

"  She  did  n't  never  have  her  over  to  talk  with 
her  about  what  she  was  going  to  do  with  the 
boy,  did  she?" 

"  I  don't  know  that  she  did,"  said  the  Captain. 
"  She  is  here ;  you  can  ask  her." 

"  You  did  n't  never  hear  of  her  leaving  no 
word  with  Mis'  Captain  Pelham  about  taking 
care  of  the  boy,  did  you?" 

"  I  can't  say  that  I  did,"  said  Captain  Pelham. 

The  old  man  nodded  his  head  with  a  satisfied 
air.  His  cross-examination  was  done. 

The  Captain  retired  from  the  witness-stand; 
his  lawyer  whispered  with  him  a  moment  and 
then  went  over  and  whispered  for  two  or  three 
minutes  with  Mrs.  Pelham ;  then  he  said  he  had 
no  more  evidence  to  offer. 

"  Mr.  Parsons,"  said  the  judge,  "  do  you  wish 
to  testify?" 

James  went  to  the  witness-stand  and  was 
sworn. 

"  Did  n't  your  daughter  ever  talk  about  what 
she  wanted  done  with  the  boy?  " 


2l8  BY  THE   SEA. 

"  Talk  about  it  ?  "  said  James.  "  Why,  she 
did  n't  talk  about  nothing  else.  She  used  to 
have  it  all  over  every  time  we  went  in.  It  was 
all  about  how  mother  'n'  me  must  do  this  with 
him  and  do  that  with  him,  —  how  he  was  to  go 
to  school,  what  room  he  was  going  to  sleep  in 
to  our  house,  and  all  that." 

Mr.  Baker  desired  to  make  no  cross-examina- 
tion, and  James's  wife  was  called,  and  testified  in 
her  quaint  way  to  the  same  effect. 

By  a  keen,  homely  instinct  James  had  half 
consciously  foreseen  what  would  be  the  control- 
ling element  of  the  case ;  and  while  he  had  not 
formulated  it  to  himself  he  had  brought  with 
him  one  of  his  neighbors,  who  had  watched  with 
his  daughter  through  the  last  nights  of  her  life. 
She  was  one  of  the  poorest  women  of  the  vil- 
lage. Her  husband  was  shiftless,  and  was  some- 
what given  to  drink.  She  had  a  large  family, 
with  little  to  bring  them  up  on.  Her  life  had 
been  one  long  struggle.  She  was  extremely 
poorly  dressed,  and  although  she  was  neat, 
there  was  an  air  of  unthrift  or  discouragement 
about  her  dress.  She  wore  an  oversack  which 
evidently  had  originally  been  made  for  some  one 


BY  THE   SEA.  2 19 

else ;  it  lacked  one  button.  She  was  faded  and 
worn  and  homely ;  but  the  moment  she  spoke  she 
impressed  you  as  a  woman  of  conscience.  She 
had  talked  in  the  long  watches  of  the  night  with 
the  boy's  mother,  and  she  confirmed  what  James 
and  his  wife  had  said.  There  could  be  no  ques- 
tion what  the  mother  had  desired. 

Mr.  Baker  ventured  out  upon  the  thin  ice  of 
cross-examination. 

"  She  must  have  talked  about  her  father-in- 
law,  Captain  Pelham?"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  the  woman,  "  often." 

"  She  seemed  to  be  attached  to  him?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  the  woman,  quickly;  "  she 
was  always  telling  how  good  he  was  to  her ;  I 
have  heard  her  say  there  was  n't  no  better  man 
in  the  world." 

"  She  must  have  talked  about  what  he  could 
do  for  the  boy?" 

"  Yes,"  said  the  woman.  "  She  expected  him 
to  do  for  Joe." 

"  Did  n't  she  ever  say,"  and  the  lawyer  looked 
round  at  James,  —  "  did  n't  you  ever  hear  her  say 
that  she  was  worried  sometimes  for  fear  her  father 
would  not  be  careful  enough  about  the  boy?  " 


22O  BY  THE   SEA. 

The  woman  hesitated  a  moment.  "  Yes," 
she  said,  "  I  have  heard  her  say  so,  but  that 's 
what  every  mother  says." 

"What  reason  did  you  ever  hear  her  give," 
the  lawyer  asked,  "  why  she  would  rather  have 
him  stay  over  there  than  to  go  and  be  brought 
up  by  his  grandfather  Pelham?" 

The  woman  looked  around  timidly  at  the 
judge.  "  Be  I  obliged  to  answer?  "  she  said. 

The  judge  nodded. 

The  woman  looked  toward  Captain  Pelham 
with  an  embarrassed  air.  He  was  the  best  friend 
she  had  in  the  world. 

"  I  rather  not  say  nothing  about  that,"  she 
said;  "it's  no  account,  anyway." 

"  Oh,  tell  us  what  she  said,"  said  Mr.  Baker. 

He  felt  that  he  had  made  some  progress  up  to 
that  point  with  his  cross-examination. 

"  Well,  it  was  n't  much,"  said  the  woman ; 
"  it  was  only  like  this.  I  have  heard  her  say 
that  Mis'  Captain  Pelham  was  a  good  woman  and 
meant  to  do  what  was  right,  but  she  was  n't  a 
woman  that  knew  how  to  mother  a  little  boy." 
And  here  the  witness  began  to  cry. 

The  judge  moved  slightly  in  his  chair. 


BY  THE   SEA.  221 

There  was  more  or  less  rambling  talk  about 
the  way  the  boy  was  allowed  to  run  loose  on 
the  shore,  and  some  suggestions  were  made 
in  the  way  of  conversational  argument  about 
his  being  allowed  to  go  barefoot,  and  to  go  in 
swimming  when  he  pleased;  but  the  judge 
seemed  to  pay  very  little  attention  to  that. 
"  That 's  the  way  we  were  all  brought  up,"  he 
said.  "  It  is  good  for  the  boy ;  he  '11  learn  to  take 
care  of  himself,  and  his  mother  knew  all  about  it. 

"  It  is  plain  enough,"  he  said  at  last,  "  that 
there  would  be  some  advantages  to  the  boy  in 
going  to  live  with  Captain  Pelham ;  but  there  is 
one  thing  that  has  been  overlooked  which  would 
probably  have  been  suggested  if  the  petitioner 
Parsons  had  had  counsel.  It  has  been  assumed 
that  the  boy  would  be  cut  loose  in  future  from  his 
grandfather  Pelham  unless  he  was  put  under  his 
guardianship ;  but  that  is  n't  so.  All  his  grand- 
parents will  look  out  for  him,  and  when  he  gets 
older,  and  wants  to  go  into  business,  here  or  else- 
where, Captain  Pelham  will  look  after  him  just 
the  same  as  if  he  were  his  guardian.  The  other 
grandfather  has  n't  got  the  means  to  advance 
him.  I  am  not  at  all  afraid  about  that,"  he  said ; 


222  BY  THE   SEA. 

"  the  only  question  here  is,  where  he  shall  be 
deposited  for  the  next  five  or  six  years.  Either 
place  is  good  enough.  His  father  had  a  right  to 
fix  it  by  will  if  he  had  chosen  to  ;  but  he  did  n't, 
and  I  think  we  must  consider  it  a  matter  for  the 
women  to  settle:  they  know  best  about  such 
things.  It  is  plain  that  his  mother  thought  it 
would  be  best  for  him  to  stay  where  he  is,  and 
she  knew  best.  He  's  wonted  there,  and  wants 
to  stay." 

Then  he  took  up  his  pen  and  wrote  on  Cap- 
tain Pelham's  petition  an  order  of  dismissal. 
On  the  other  he  filled  out  and  signed  the  decree 
granting  guardianship  to  James  Parsons,  and  ap- 
proved the  bond.  Then  he  handed  the  papers 
to  the  register  and  called  the  next  case. 

From  this  day  on,  little  was  seen  of  Captain 
Pelham-at  James's  house.  Sometimes  he  would 
stop  in  his  buggy  and  take  the  boy  off  with  him 
for  a  little  stay;  but  Joe  soon  wearied  of  for- 
mality, and  grew  restless  for  James,  for  his 
grandmother  Parsons,  for  the  free  life  of  the 
little  wharf  and  the  shore.  Life  always  opened 
fresh  to  him  on  his  return. 


BY  THE   SEA.  223 

Once  and  only  once  Captain  Pelham  entered 
James's  door-yard.  James  was  sitting  in  an  arm- 
chair under  an  apple-tree  by  the  well,  smoking 
and  reading  the  paper.  The  Captain  began,  this 
time,  with  no  introduction. 

"  Fred  Gooding,"  he  said,  "  tells  me  you  are 
talking  of  letting  Joe  go  out  with  Pitts  in  his 
boat.  You  know  Pitts  is  no  fit  man." 

"  You  tell  Fred  Gooding  he  don't  know  what 
he  's  talking  about,"  said  James,  as  he  rose  from 
his  chair,  holding  the  paper  in  his  hand.  "  What 
I  told  Pitts  was  just  the  contr'y,  —  the  boy 
should  n't  go  along  o'  him."  Then  his  anger 
began  to  rise.  "  But  what  right  you  got/'  he 
demanded,  "  to  interfere?  T  ain  't  none  of  your 
business  who  I  let  him  go  along  of.  It 's  me 
that 's  the  boy's  guardeen." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  Captain.  "  Only  I  tell 
you  fairly,  —  the  first  time  I  get  word  of  any- 
thing, I  '11  go  to  the  probate  court  and  have  you 
removed !  " 

James  followed  him  down  the  path  with  deri- 
sive laughter.  "  Why  don't  you  go  to  the  pro- 
bate court?"  he  said;  "you  hed  great  luck 
before !  "  And  as  the  Captain  drove  away, 


224  BY  THE   SEA. 

James  shouted   after  him,  "  Go  to  the  probate 
court !     Go  to  the  probate  court !  " 


V. 

THERE  is  a  low,  pleasant  boat-shop,  close 
on  the  shore  of  a  little  arm  of  the  sea.  The 
tide  ebbs  and  flows  before  its  wide  double 
doors,  and  sometimes  rises  so  high  as  to  flow 
the  sills;  then  you  have  to  walk  across  in 
front  of  the  shop  on  a  plank,  laid  upon  iron 
ballast.  There  is  a  little  wharf  or  pier  close 
at  hand,  the  outer  end  of  which  is  always 
going  to  be  repaired.  There  are  two  or  three 
other  shops  near  by,  and  about  them  is  the 
pleasant  litter  of  a  boat-yard.  In  the  cove  be- 
fore them  lie  at  their  moorings  in  the  late  after- 
noon a  fleet  of  fifteen  or  twenty  fishing  and 
pleasure  boats,  all  cat-rigged,  all  of  one  gen- 
eral build,  wide,  shoal,  with  one  broad  sail,  all 
painted  white,  by  the  custom  of  the  place,  and 
all  or  nearly  all  kept  neat  and  clean :  they 
are  all  likely  enough  to  be  called  upon  now  and 
then  for  sailing-parties.  Often  of  a  bright  after- 
noon in  summer  the  sails  will  all  be  up,  as  the 


BY  THE   SEA.  225 

boats  swing  at  their  floats :  then  you  have  all 
the  effect  of  a  regatta  in  still  life. 

The  shop  faces  down  the  bay  of  which  this 
inlet  is  the  foot,  and  as  you  look  out  from 
your  seat  within,  on  a  wooden  stool,  the  great 
door  frames  in  a  landscape  of  peaceful  beauty. 
The  opening  to  the  sea  is  closed  to  the  view. 
Simply  you  can  see  the  two  white  sand-cliffs 
through  which  it  makes.  The  bay  is  a  mile  in 
length,  perhaps,  and  of  half  that  width.  From 
its  white,  sandy  shores  rise  gentle  hills,  bare  to 
the  sun  or  covered  with  a  low  growth  of  woods. 
To  the  right  are  low-lying  pastures  and  marshes, 
with  here  and  there  a  grazing  cow.  At  the  head 
of  the  bay  the  valley  of  a  stream  can  be  faintly 
distinguished,  while  in  the  distance  there  is  a 
faint  suggestion  of  a  few  scattered  houses  on 
the  upper  waters.  At  one  or  two  points  masts 
of  boats  rise  from  the  grass  of  the  inland,  and 
sometimes  a  sail  is  seen  threading  its  slow  way 
amid  the  trees. 

The  shop  is  a  favorite  resort.     You   may  go 

there  in  the  early  morning,  in  the  late  forenoon, 

or  in  the  afternoon ;   whenever  you  go  you  will 

find  there  more  or  less  company.     There  is  a 

15 


226  BY   THE   SEA. 

sort  of  social,  hospitable  atmosphere  about  the 
place  which  is  attractive  in  the  extreme.  Some- 
times there  is  a  good  deal  of  conversation ; 
sometimes  there  is  a  comfortable  silence  of 
good-fellowship.  There  is  more  or  less  knitting 
there  and  crocheting;  often  in  the  afternoon 
the  women  from  near  by  take  their  work  there 
to  enjoy  the  view,  and  the  fresh  air  which  draws 
up  there  as  nowhere  else. 

There  is  a  good  deal  of  religious  discussion 
there,  although  the  atmosphere  of  the  shop  is 
not  entirely  religious,  as  you  may  see  by  some 
of  the  papers  lying  about,  and  the  cuts  pasted 
up  on  the  walls.  Chief  is  a  picture  representing 
a  scene  in  the  life  of  the  prophet  Jonah.  Jonah 
and  the  seamen  are  drawing  lots  to  see  who 
shall  be  cast  over.  Jonah  has  just  drawn  the 
ace  of  spades. 

There  are  various  other  pictures  on  the  walls, 
—  prints  of  famous  yachts,  charts,  advertisements 
of  regattas,  sailing  rules  of  yacht-clubs.  No- 
where is  the  science  of  boat-building  and  boat- 
sailing  studied  with  greater  closeness  than  in 
that  shop.  Many  a  successful  racer  has  been 
built  there.  There  are  models  of  boats  pinned 


BY  THE   SEA. 

up  against  the  wall,  —  models  which  to  the 
common  eye  hardly  vary  at  all,  but  to  a  trained 
perception  differ  widely.  There  are  oars  lying 
about  the  shop,  oil-skin  suits,  a  compass,  charts, 
in  round  tin  cases,  boat  hardware,  and  coils  of 
new  rope. 

The  little  pier  has  its  periods  of  activity  and 
life,  like  the  great  world  outside.  At  three  or 
four  o'clock,  in  the  gray  dawn,  fishermen  ap- 
pear, singly,  or  two  by  two  ;  there  is  often  then 
a  failure  of  wind,  and  they  have  to  get  out  to 
sea  by  heavy  rowing  or  by  the  drift  of  the  tide. 
Then  there  Is  silence  for  some  hours,  and 
when  the  world  awakes  the  cove  is  nearly  de- 
serted. At  seven  o'clock  begins  the  life  of  the 
shop.  Amateur  fishermen  appear,  —  boarders 
from  New  York  or  visiting  sons  from  Brock- 
ton. Later  still,  little  parties  come  down,  —  a 
knot  of  young  fellows  and  laughing  girls  with 
bright-colored  wraps,  bound  on  a  sailing-party 
to  Katameset,  with  a  matron,  and  with  some 
well-salted  man  to  steer  the  boat,  perhaps  in 
slippers  and  a  dressing-gown.  They  go  singing 
out  to  sea.  Then  come  a  party  of  bathers,  — 
ladies  and  little  children,  with  towels  and  blue 


228  BY  THE   SEA. 

suits,  and  all  the  paraphernalia  of  pails  and 
wooden  shovels.  Then  will  come  perhaps  a 
couple  of  girls,  to  sketch.  They  will  encamp 
anywhere  upon  the  shore,  call  into  their  service 
some  small  amphibious  creature  to  tip  a  skiff  up 
on  its  side  to  make  an  effective  scene,  and  pro- 
ceed with  the  wonders  of  their  art.  Soon  the 
bathers  return.  They  have  been  only  a  little 
way  down  the  narrows,  and  come  back  to  din- 
ner at  one.  The  fishermen  come  in  from  three 
to  four,  unless  they  happen  to  be  becalmed ; 
there  is  a  bustle  then  of  getting  out  ice ;  of 
slitting  and  weighing  and  packing  fish,  and 
loading  them  into  wagons  to  be  carted  to  the 
railway.  Then  there  is  a  lull  until  the  sailing- 
parties  return,  perhaps  at  five,  perhaps  at  six, 
perhaps  not  until  the  turn  of  the  tide  or  the 
evening  breeze  brings  them  home. 

All  the  time  the  quiet  life  of  the  boat-shop 
goes  on,  —  its  labor,  its  discussions  on  politics 
and  religion,  its  criticism  of  yachts.  All  day 
long  small  boys  play  about  the  pier,  race  in 
skiffs  or  in  such  insignificant  sailing-craft 
as  may  be  available,  and  every  half-hour,  at 
the  initiative  of  some  infant  leader,  all  doff 


BY  THE   SEA.  229 

their  little  print  waists  and  short  trousers  and 
"  go  in,"  regardless  of  the  sketchers  on  the 
shore. 

It  was  a  bright,  fresh  day.  The  air  was  as 
clear  as  crystal.  Joe  had  been  gone  since  dawn 
with  Henry  Price.  The  wind  had  been  blow- 
ing hard  from  the  north  for  a  dozen  hours,  and, 
as  the  saying  is,  had  kicked  up  a  sea.  On  the 
shoal  the  waves  were  rolling  heavily,  and  since 
three  o'clock  the  tide  had  been  running  against 
the  wind,  and  the  seas  had  been  broken  every 
way.  But  to  Henry  Price,  and  with  that  boat, 
rough  seas,  from  March  to  November,  were 
only  what  a  rude  mountain  road  would  be  to 
you  or  me.  If  his  wife,  toward  afternoon,  shad- 
ing her  eyes  at  the  south  door,  ever  felt  anxious 
about  him,  it  was  a  woman's  foolish  fear ;  it  was 
only  because  she  thought  with  concern  of  that 
—  internal  neuralgia  was  it? — which  her  hus- 
band brought  back  from  the  war;  which  seized 
him  at  rare  intervals  and  enfeebled  him  for  days. 
He  made  light  of  it,  and  never  spoke  of  it  out 
of  the  house.  There  was  no  better  boatman 
on  that  shore.  Let  alone  that  one  possibility  of 


230  BY  THE   SEA. 

weakness,  and  the  ocean  had  a  hard  man  to  deal 
with  when  it  dealt  with  him. 

They  had  been  gone  all  day.  It  had  been 
rough,  and  they  would  come  in  wet.  This  wind 
would  not  die  down ;  they  were  sure  to  make 
a  quick  run,  and  would  be  in  before  dark. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon.  James  was  sitting 
in  the  shop  with  one  or  two  companions,  engaged 
in  a  loud  discussion.  He  had  been  discoursing 
upon  all  his  favorite  themes.  He  had  been 
declaiming  upon  the  dangers  from  Catholic 
supremacy  and  the  subserviency  of  the  Irish 
vote  to  the  Church  of  Rome,  and  upon  the  ab- 
solute necessity  of  the  supremacy  of  the  Demo- 
cratic party;  upon  the  Apocalypse  and  the 
seven  seals.  He  had  been  maintaining  the  lit- 
eral infallibility  of  the  Scriptures,  and  the  neces- 
sity of  treating  some  portions  as  legendary.  It 
would  be  hard  to  say  what  inconsistent  views 
he  had  not  set  forth  within  the  space  of  the  past 
hour;  and  all  this  with  the  utmost  intensity, 
and  yet  with  the  utmost  good-humor,  always 
ready  to  acknowledge  a  point  against  himself, 
—  the  more  readily  if  entirely  fallacious,  —  with 
a  burst  of  hearty  laughter. 


BY  THE   SEA.  231 

At  last  there  was  a  pause.  Something  had 
called  out  of  doors  the  two  or  three  men  who 
were  within.  There  was  nothing  to  disturb  the 
peaceful  beauty  of  the  afternoon.  It  was  blow- 
ing hard  outside,  but  this  was  a  sheltered  spot, 
and  the  wind  was  little  felt. 

As  James  sat  there  silent,  with  no  one  at 
hand  but  the  owner  of  the  shop,  who  was  busy 
upon  the  keel  of  a  new  boat,  a  fisherman  came  in 
and  took  a  seat,  with  an  affectation  of  ease  and 
nonchalance ;  in  a  moment  another  followed ; 
two  or  three  more  came  in,  then  others. 

The  carpenter  stopped  his  work,  and  shading 
his  eyes  with  his  hand,  seemed  to  be  looking 
down  the  bay. 

There  was  a  dead  silence  for  a  few  moments. 
Then  James  spoke.  But  it  was  not  the  voice 
of  James.  It  was  not  that  cheery  and  hearty 
voice  which  had  just  been  filling  the  shop  with 
mirth.  It  was  a  voice  harsh,  forced,  mechani- 
cal, —  the  voice  of  a  man  paralyzed  with  terror. 

"Why  don't  you  tell  me?"  he  said;  "is  it 
Henry,  or  —  is  it  the  boy?" 

But  no  one  spoke. 

"  You  don't  need  to  tell  me  nothing,"  he  said, 


232  BY  THE   SEA. 

in  the  same  strange  tone  of  paralysis  and  fear, 
"  I  knowed  it  when  Bassett  first  come  in.  I 
knowed  it  when  the  rest  come  in  and  closed  in 
round  me  and  did  n't  say  nothing." 

He  sat  still  a  moment.  Then  he  rose  ab- 
ruptly and  turned  to  the  landward  door.  He 
stumbled  over  a  stool  which  was  in  his  way, 
and  would  have  fallen  but  that  one  of  the  men 
sprang  forward  and  held  him.  He  plunged 
hastily  out  of  the  door.  Just  outside,  in  the 
shade  of  a  small  wild  cherry-tree,  was  a  bucket 
of  clams  which  he  had  dug;  across  the  bucket 
was  an  old  hoe  worn  down  to  nothing.  He 
stopped  and  mechanically  took  up  the  pail  and 
hoe.  Bassett  stood  by  the  door  and  looked 
after  him  as  he  went  along  the  foot-path  to- 
ward his  home.  There  was  a  scantling  fence 
close  by.  He  went  over  it  in  his  old  habitual 
fashion:  first  he  set  over  the  bucket  of  clams 
and  the  hoe ;  then  one  leg  went  over  and  then 
the  other ;  he  sat  for  an  instant  on  the  top  slat 
and  then  slid  down.  He  took  up  his  burden 
and  went  his  way  over  the  fields.  In  a  moment 
he  was  lost  to  sight  behind  a  bit  of  rising 
ground.  Then  he  reappeared,  making  his  way 


BY  THE   SEA.  233 

over  the  fields  at  his  own  heavy  gait,  until  he 
was  lost  to  sight  behind  a  clump  of  trees  close 
to  his  own  door. 

They  did  not  find  Henry  and  the  boy  that 
night.  It  was  not  until  the  next  day  that  the 
bodies  were  washed  ashore.  One  of  the  search- 
ers, walking  along  the  beach  in  the  early  dawn, 
found  them  both.  He  came  upon  Henry  first; 
he  was  lying  on  the  sand  upon  his  face.  A 
little  farther  on,  gently  swayed  by  the  rising 
tide,  lay  Joe  and  his  dog.  Joe  lay  on  his  side, 
precisely  as  if  asleep ;  the  dog  was  in  his  arms. 


The  boy  lies  in  the  burying-ground  on  the 
hill,  near  the  stone  and  the  weeping-willow 
which  mourn  the  youth  who  met  his  untimely 
death  in  1830,  in  the  launching  of  the  brig. 
There  is  a  rose-bush  at  the  grave,  and  few 
bright  days  pass  in  summer  that  there  is  not  a 
bunch  of  homely  flowers  laid  at  its  foot.  It  is 
the  spot  to  which  all  Mrs.  Parsons's  thoughts 
now  tend,  and  her  perpetual  pilgrimage.  It  is 
too  far  for  her  to  walk  both  there  and  back ;  but 


234  BV  THE   SEA. 

often  a  neighbor  is  going  that  way,  with  a  lug- 
wagon  or  an  open  cart  or  his  family  carriage, 

—  it  makes  no  difference  which,  —  and  it  is  easy 
to  get   a  ride.     It  is  a   good-humored  village. 
Everybody  stands  ready  to  do  a  favor,  and  no- 
body hesitates  to  ask  one.     Often  on  a  bright 
afternoon  Mrs.  Parsons  will  watch  from  her  front 
window  the  "  teams "  that  pass,  going  to  the 
bay.     When  she  sees  one  which  is  likely  to  go 
in  the  right  direction  on  its  return  from  the  bay, 

—  everybody  knows  in  which  direction  she  will 
wish  to  go,  —  she  will  run  hastily  to  the  door, 
and  hail  it. 

"  Whoa !  Sh-h  !  Whoa !  How  d'  do,  Mis' 
Parsons?" 

"  Be  you  going  straight  home  when  you 
come  back?  Well,  then,  if  it  won't  really  be 
no  trouble  at  all,  I  '11  be  at  the  gap  when  you 
come  by;  I  won't  keep  you  waiting  a  minute. 
It 's  such  a  nice,  sunshiny  afternoon,  I  thought 
I  'd  like  to  go  up  and  sit  awhile,  and  take  some 
posies." 


IN  MADEIRA  PLACE. 

npURNING  from  the  street  which  follows  the 
•*-•  line  of  the  wharves,  into  Madeira  Place, 
you  leave  at  once  an  open  region  of  docks  and 
spars  for  comparative  retirement  Wagons  sel- 
dom enter  Madeira  Place:  it  is  too  hard  to 
turn  them  in  it;  and  then  the  inhabitants,  for 
the  most  part,  have  a  convenient  way  of  buy- 
ing their  coal  by  the  basket.  How  much  trouble 
it  would  save,  if  we  would  all  buy  our  coal  by 
the  basket! 

A  few  doors  up  the  place  a  passageway 
makes  off  to  the  right,  through  a  high  wooden 
gate  that  is  usually  open ;  and  at  the  upper  cor- 
ner of  this  passage  stands  a  brick  house,  whose 
perpetually  closed  blinds  suggest  the  owner's 
absence.  But  the  householders  of  Madeira  Place 
do  not  absent  themselves,  even  in  summer;  they 
could  hardly  get  much  nearer  to  the  sea.  And 


236  IN   MADEIRA   PLACE. 

if  you  will  take  the  pains  to  seat  yourself,  to- 
ward the  close  of  day,  upon  an  opposite  door- 
step, between  two  rows  of  clamorous  little  girls 
sliding,  with  screams  of  painful  joy,  down  the 
rough  hammered  stone,  to  the  improvement  of 
their  clothing,  you  will  see  that  the  house  is  by 
no  means  untenanted. 

Every  evening  it  is  much  the  same  thing. 
First,  following  close  upon  the  heels  of  sunset, 
comes  a  grizzly,  tall,  and  slouching  man,  in  the 
,cap  and  blouse  of  a  Union  soldier,  bearing  down 
with  his  left  hand  upon  a  cane,  and  dragging  his 
left  foot  heavily  behind  him,  while  with  his  right 
hand  he  holds  by  a  string  a  cluster  of  soaring 
toy  balloons,  and  also  drags,  by  its  long  wooden 
tongue,  a  rude  child's  cart,  in  which  is  a  small 
hand-organ. 

Next  will  come,  most  likely,  a  dark,  bent, 
keen-eyed  old  woman,  with  her  parchment  face 
shrunk  into  deep  wrinkles.  She  bears  a  dan- 
gling placard,  stating,  in  letters  of  white  upon 
a  patent-leather  background,  what  you  might 
not  otherwise  suspect, — that  she  was  a  soldier 
under  the  great  Napoleon,  and  fought  with  him 
at  Waterloo.  She  also  bears,  since  music  goes 


IN   MADEIRA   PLACE.  237 

with  war,  a  worn  accordion.  She  is  the  old 
woman  to  whose  shrivelled,  expectant  counte- 
nance you  sometimes  offer  up  a  copper  coin,  as 
she  kneels  by  the  flagged  crossway  path  of  the 
Park. 

She  is  succeeded,  perhaps,  by  a  couple  of 
black-haired,  short,  broad-shouldered  men,  lead- 
ing a  waddling,  unconcerned  bear,  and  talking 
earnestly  together  in  a  language  which  you  will 
hardly  follow. 

Then  you  will  see  six  or  eight  or  ten  other 
sons  and  daughters  of  toil,  most  of  them  with 
balloons. 

All  these  people  will  turn,  between  the  high, 
ball-topped  gate-posts,  into  the  alley,  and  de- 
scend at  once  to  the  left,  by  a  flight  of  three  or 
four  steps,  to  a  side  basement  door. 

As  they  begin  to  flock  in,  you  will  see  through 
the  alley  gate  a  dark,  thick-set  man,  of  middle 
age,  but  with  very  little  hair,  come  and  stand 
at  the  foot  of  the  steps,  in  the  doorway.  It  is 
Sorel,  the  master  of  the  house ;  for  this  is  the 
Maison  Sorel.  Some  of  his  guests  he  greets 
with  a  Noachian  deluge  of  swift  French  words 
and  high-pitched  cries  of  welcome.  It  is  thus 


238  IN   MADEIRA   PLACE. 

that  he  receives  those  capitalists,  the  bear-leaders 
from  the  Pyrenees;  it  is  thus  that  he  greets  the 
grizzled  man  in  the  blue  cap  and  blouse,  — 
Fidele  the  old  soldier,  Fidele  the  pensioner, 
to  whom  a  great  'government,  far  away,  at 
Washington,  doubtless  with  much  else  on  its 
mind,  never  forgets  to  send  by  mail,  each 
quarter-day  morning,  a  special,  personal  com- 
munication, marked  with  Fidele's  own  name, 
enclosing  the  preliminaries  of  a  remittance: 
"  Accept "  (as  it  were)  "  this  slight  tribute." 
"  Ak  !  que  c'est  un  gouvernement  !  Voild  une 
rtpublique  !  " 

Even  a  Frenchman  may  be  proud  to  be  an 
American ! 

Most  of  his  guests,  however,  Sorel  receives 
with  a  mere  pantomime  of  wide-opened  eyes  and 
extended  hands  and  shrugged-up  shoulders,  ac- 
companied by  a  long-drawn  "  Eh  !  "  by  which  he 
bodies  forth  a  thousand  refinements  of  thought 
which  language  would  fail  to  express.  Does  a 
fresh  immigrant  from  the  Cevennes  bring  back 
at  night  but  one  or  two  of  the  gay  balloons  with 
which  she  was  stocked  in  the  morning,  or,  better, 
none;  or,  on  the  other  hand,  does  a  stalwart 


IN   MADEIRA   PLACE.  239 

man  just  from  the  rich  Brie  country  return  at 
sundown  in  abject  despair,  bringing  back  almost 
all  of  the  red  and  blue  globes  which  floated  like 
a  radiant  constellation  of  hope  about  his  head 
when  he  set  forth  in  the  early  morning,  Sorel 
can  express,  by  his  "  Eh ! "  and  some  slight 
movement,  with  subtle  exactness  and  with  no 
possibility  of  being  misapprehended,  the  pre- 
cise shade  of  feeling  with  which  the  result  in- 
spires him. 

But  there  he  stops.  Nothing  is  said.  Sorel 
is  a  philosopher:  he  has  indicated  volumes,  and 
he  will  not  dilute  with  language.  One  who  has 
fired  a  little  lead  bullet  does  not  need  to  throw 
after  it  a  bushel  of  mustard-seed. 

The  company,  as  they  come  in,  one  by  one, 
wash  their  hands  and  faces,  if  they  see  fit,  at  the 
kitchen  sink,  and  dry  them  on  a  long  roller- 
towel, —  a  device  adopted,  probably,  from  the 
Americans.  Then  they  retire  to  the  room  be- 
hind the  kitchen,  and  seat  themselves  at  a  long 
table,  at  which  the  bear-leaders  place  themselves 
only  after  seeing  their  animal  fed,  in  the  coal- 
hole, where  he  is  quartered. 

At  the  supper-table  all  is  joy,  even  with  the 


240  IN   MADEIRA   PLACE. 

hopeless.  Fidele  beams  with  good-humor,  and 
not  infrequently  is  called  on  to  describe,  amid  a 
general  hush,  for  the  benefit  of  some  new-comer 
from  "  la  belle  France"  the  quarterly  receipt  of 
the  communication  from  Washington :  how  he 
stays  at  home  that  day,  and  shaves,  and  waits  at 
the  door  for  "  la  paste ;"  how  the  gray-uniformed 
letter-carrier  appears,  hands  out  a  letter  "  as 
large  as  that,"  and  nods  smilingly  to  Fidele : 
he,  too,  fought  at  "  la  Montague  du  Lookoiit" 
The  amount  of  the  sergeant's  pension  astonishes 
them,  wonted  as  they  are  to  the  pecuniary  treat- 
ment of  soldiers  in  the  Old  World.  "  Mais,  it  is 
a  fortune  !  Fidele  is  a  vrai  rentier  !  Ah  !  line 
republiqne  comme  $a  !  " 

Generally,  however,  Fidele  contents  himself  at 
the  evening  meal  with  smiling  good-humoredly 
on  everybody  and  rapidly  passing  in,  under  his 
drooping  mustache,  spoonfuls  of  soup,  morsels 
from  the  long  French  loaf,  and  draughts  of 
lager  beer ;  for  only  the  rich  can  have  wine  in 
this  country,  and  in  the  matter  of  drink  an  exile 
must  needs  lower  his  standard,  as  the  prodigal 
lowered  his. 

While  Sorel  and  his  wife  and  their  busy  maid 


IN  MADEIRA  PLACE.  241 

fly  in  and  out  with  potage  and  roti,  "  t^r-r-rh 
succulent''  the  history  of  which  we  must  not  pry 
too  deeply  into,  there  is  much  excited  conver- 
sation. You  see  at  once  that  many  amusing 
things  happen  to  one  who  sells  balloons  all  day 
upon  the  Park.  And  there  are  varied  fortunes 
to  recount.  Such  a  lady  actually  wished  to 
buy  three  for  fifty  cents !  Such  a  "  police-er- 
mann "  is  to  be  highly  commended ;  such  an- 
other looks  with  an  evil  eye  upon  all :  he 
should  truly  be  removed  from  office.  There 
is  a  rumor  that  a  license  fee  is  to  be  required 
by  the  city. 

All  this  is  food  for  discussion. 

After  supper  they  all  sit  about  the  kitchen 
or  in  the  alley-way,  chatting,  smoking.  She 
who  has  been  lucky  in  her  sales  basks  in  Sorel's 
favor.  The  unfortunate  peasant  from  the  Brie 
country  feels  the  little  bullet  in  his  heart,  and 
nurses  a  desperate  resolution  to  redeem  him- 
self on  the  morrow:  one  must  live. 

Sometimes,  if  you  happen  to  pass  there  on 

a  warm  evening,  you  may  see  a  young  woman, 

rather  handsome,  sitting  sidewise  on  the  outer 

basement   steps,   looking   absently   before   her, 

16 


242  IN  MADEIRA  PLACE. 

straight-backed,  upright,  with  her  hands  clasped 
about  one  knee,  with  her  skirt  sweeping  away : 
a  picture  of  Alsace.  I  have  never  been  able  to 
find  out  who  she  is. 

One  evening  there  is  a  little  flutter  among 
this  brood.  A  gentleman,  at  the  alley  door, 
wishes  to  see  M.  SoreL  M.  Sorel  leads  the 
gentleman  out,  through  the  alley  gate,  to  the 
front  street-door;  then,  retiring  whence  he 
came,  he  shortly  appears  from  within  at  the 
front  door,  which  opens  only  after  a  struggle. 
A  knot  of  small  boys  has  instantly  gathered, 
apparently  impressed  with  a  vague,  awful  ex- 
pectation that  the  gentleman  about  to  enter  will 
never  come  out.  Realizing,  however,  that  in 
that  case  there  will  be  nothing  to  see,  they 
slowly  disperse  when  the  door  is  closed,  and 
resume  their  play. 

Sorel  ushers  the  gentleman  into  the  front  par- 
lor, which  is  Sorel's  bedroom,  which  is  also  the 
storehouse  of  his  merchandise,  which  is  also  the 
nursery.  At  this  moment  an  infant  is  sleeping 
in  a  trundle-bed. 

The  gentleman  takes  a  chair.     So  does  Sorel. 


IN   MADEIRA  PLACE.  243 

The  gentleman  does  not  talk  French.  Fortu- 
nately, M.  Sorel  can  speak  the  English :  he  has 
learned  it  in  making  purchases  for  his  table. 

"  I  am  an  officer  of  the  government,"  says 
Mr.  Fox,  with  a  very  sharp,  distinct  utterance, 
"  in  the  custom-house.  You  know  '  custom- 
house'?" 

M,  Sorel  does  not  commit  himself.  He  is  an 
importer  of  toys.  One  must  be  on  his  guard. 

Thereupon,  a  complicated  explanation:  this 
street,  and  that  street,  and  the  other  street,  and 
this  building,  and  the  market,  and  the  great 
building  standing  here. 

Ah !  yes !  M.  Sorel  identifies  the  building. 
Then  he  is  informed  that  many  government  offi- 
cers are  there.  He  knew  it  very  well  before. 

The  conversation  goes  a  step  farther. 

Mr.  Fox  is  one  of  those  officers.  The  gov- 
ernment is  at  present  in  need  of  a  gentleman 
absolutely  trustworthy,  for  certain  important 
duties:  perhaps  to  judge  of  silks;  perhaps  to 
oversee  the  weighing  of  sugar,  of  iron,  of  dia- 
monds ;  perhaps  to  taste  of  wines.  Who  can 
say  what  service  this  great  government  may  not 
need  from  its  children  ! 


244  IN   MADEIRA  PLACE. 

With  some  labor,  since  the  English  is  only 
a  translucent,  and  not  a  transparent  medium  to 
Sorel,  this  is  made  clear.  Still  the  horizon  is 
dark. 

Mr.  Fox  draws  his  chair  nearer,  facing  Sorel, 
who  looks  uneasy :  Sorel's  feelings,  to  the  thou- 
sandth degree  of  subdivision,  are  always  declar- 
ing themselves  in  swift  succession  upon  his 
face. 

Mr.  Fox  proceeds. 

The  great  officer  of  the  custom-house,  the 
collector  — 

"Leckef?"  interrupts  Sorel. 

—  yes,  the  chef  (Mr.  Fox  seizes  upon  the 
word  and  clings  to  it),  —  the  chef  has  been 
speaking  anxiously  to  Mr.  Fox  about  this  va- 
cancy :  Mr.  Fox  is  in  the  chefs  confidence. 

"  Ah  !  "  from  Sorel,  in  a  tone  of  utter  bewil- 
derment. 

"We  must  have,"  the  chef  had  said  to  Mr. 
Fox,  —  "we  must  have  for  this  place  a  noble 
man,  a  man  with  a  large  heart "  (the  exact  re- 
quired dimensions  Mr.  Fox  does  not  give)  ;  "  a 
man  who  loves  his  government,  a  man  who  has 
showed  himself  ready  to  die  for  her ;  we  must 


IN   MADEIRA   PLACE.  245 

have"  —  here  Mr.  Fox  bends  forward  and  lays 
his  hand  upon  Sorel's  knee,  and  looks  him  in 
the  eye,  —  "we  must  have  —  a  soldier  !  " 

"  Ah !  "  says  Sorel,  moving  his  chair  back  a 
little,  unconsciously,  "  il  fant  un  soldat !  I  un- 
'stan',  — le  chef,  'e  boun'  to  'ave  one  sol'ier  !  " 

Still  no  comprehension  of  the  stranger's  object. 

Curiosity,  however,  prompts  Sorel  at  this  point 
to  an  inquiry:  "  'Ow  much  'e  goin'  pay  'im?  " 

Mr.  Fox  suggests  that  he  guess.  M.  Sorel 
guesses,  boldly,  and  high,  —  almost  insolently 
high,  —  eight  dollars  a  week :  she  is  so  gener- 
ous, la  Republique  ! 

Higher ! 

"  Higher !  "  Sorel's  eyes  open.  He  guesses 
again,  and  recklessly :  "  Dix  dollars  par  se- 
maine ;  you  know  —  ten  dol-lar  ever-y  week." 

Try  again,  —  again,  —  again  !  He  guesses,  — 
madly  now,  as  one  risks  his  gold  at  Baden: 
twelve,  fourteen,  sixteen,  eighteen. 

Yes,  eighteen  dollars  a  week,  and  more  —  a 
thousand  dollars  every  year. 

Sorel  wipes  his  brow.  A  thousand  dollars  in 
one  year  !  It  is  like  a  temptation  of  the  devil. 

Sorel  ventures  another  inquiry.     The  chef 'of 


246  IN   MADEIRA   PLACE. 

the  custom-'ouse,  esteeming  the  old  sol'iers 
so  highly,  is  an  old  sol'ier  himself,  —  is  it  not 
so?  He  has  fought  for  his  country?  Doubtless 
he  has  lost  an  arm.  And  Sorel  instinctively  lets 
his  right  arm  hang  limp,  as  if  the  sleeve  were 
empty. 

.  No ;  the  chef  was  an  editor  and  a  statesman 
in  the  time  of  the  war.  He  had  greatly  desired 
to  go  to  fight,  but  his  duties  did  not  permit  it. 
Still,  he  loves  the  old  soldier. 

Another  advance  in  the  conversation,  this 
time  by  Mr.  Fox. 

The  government,  it  seems,  has  now  awakened, 
with  deep  distress,  to  the  fact  that  one  class  of 
her  soldiers  she  has  hitherto  forgotten.  The 
government  —  that  is,  the  chef  of  the  custom- 
house —  had  this  very  morning  said  to  Mr.  Fox 
that  this  class  of  old  soldiers  must  be  brought 
forward,  for  trust  and  for  honor.  "  We  must 
choose,  for  this  vacant  place,"  the  ctiefhad  said, 
—  here  Mr.  Fox  brings  his  face  forward  in  close 
proximity  to  Sorel's  astonished  countenance,  — 
"  we  must  have,  not  only  an  old  soldier,  but  — 
a  Frenchman  !  " 

"Ah!" 


IN  MADEIRA   PLACE.  247 

"  Such  a  soldier  lives  here,"  says  Mr.  Fox ; 
"is  it  not  true?  So  brave,  so  honest,  so  mod- 
est, so  faithful!  Ready  to  die  for  his  country; 
worthy  of  trust  and  worthy  of  reward  !  " 

"  Mais  /""with  amazement.  Yes,  such  a  sol- 
'ier  lives  here.  But  can  it.be  that  monsieur 
refers  to  our  Fidele? 

Precisely  so  ! 

Whereupon  Sorel,  hard,  hairless,  but  French, 
weeps,  and  embraces  Mr.  Fox  as  the  repre- 
sentative of  the  great  government  at  Wash- 
ington; and,  weeping  and  laughing,  leads  him 
downstairs  and  presents  him  to  Fidele  and 
to  the  bear-leaders,  and  opens  a  bottle  of  weak 
vinegar. 

Such  an  ovation  as  Fidele  receives !  And 
such  a  generous  government !  To  send  a  special 
messenger  to  seek  out  the  old  sergeant  in  his 
retirement !  So  thoughtful !  But  it  is  all  of  a 
piece  with  its  unfailing  care  in  the  past. 

Fidele  begins,  on  the  spot,  to  resume  some- 
thing of  his  former  erectness  and  soldierly  bear- 
ing; to  shake  off  the  stoop  and  slouch  which 
lameness  and  the  drawing  about  of  his  "  mu- 


248  IN  MADEIRA  PLACE. 

sique"  have  given  him.  He  wishes  to  tell  the 
story  of  Lookout  Mountain. 

As  Mr.  Fox  is  about  to  go,  he  recollects 
himself.  Oh,  by  the  way,  one  thing  more.  It 
is  not  pleasant  to  mingle  sadness  with  rejoicing. 
But  Mr.  Fox  is  the  reluctant  bearer  of  a  gentle 
reproach  from  the  great  government  at  Wash- 
ington. Her  French  children,  —  are  they  not 
just  a  little  remiss?  And  when  she  is  so  boun- 
tiful, so  thoughtful ! 

" Mais  —  how  you  mean? "  (with  surprise.) 

Why,  —  and  there  is  a  certain  pathos  in  Mr. 
Fox's  tone,  as  he  stands  facing  Sorel,  with  the 
gaze  of  a  loving,  reproachful  friend,  —  why, 
how  many  of  the  Frenchmen  of  this  quarter  are 
ever  seen  now  at  the  pleasant  gatherings  of  the 
Republicans,  in  the  wardroom?  The  Republic, 
the  Republicans,  —  it  is  all  one.  Is  that  quite 
kind  to  the  Republic?  Should  not  her  French 
children,  on  their  part,  show  filial  devotion  to 
the  fond  government? 

"  Mais"  M.  Sorel  swiftly  explains,  "  they 
are  weary  of  going;  they  understand  nothing. 
One  sits  and  smokes  a  little  while,  and  one 
talks;  then  one  puts  a  little  ticket  into  one's 


IN   MADEIRA   PLACE.  249 

hand;  one  is  jammed  into  a  long  file;  one 
slips  his  ticket  into  a  box;  he  knows  not  for 
whom  he  is  voting;  it  is  like  a  flock  of  sheep. 
What  is  the  use  of  going?" 

Ah!  that  is  the  trouble?  Then  they  are 
unjustly  reproached.  The  government  has  in- 
deed neglected  to  guide  them.  But  suppose 
that  some  officer  of  the  government — Mr.  Fox 
himself,  for  instance  — will  be  at  the  meeting? 
Then  can  M.  Sorel  induce  those  good  French 
citizens  to  come? 

Induce  them  !  They  will  be  only  too  ready ; 
in  fact,  at  a  word  from  M.  Sorel,  and  particu- 
larly when  the  news  of  this  great  honor  to 
Fidele  shall  have  spread  abroad,  twenty,  thirty, 
forty  will  go  to  every  meeting,  —  that  is,  if 
a  friend  be  there  to  guide  them.  At  the 
very  next  meeting,  monsieur  shall  see  whether 
the  great  government's  French  children  are 
neglectful ! 

Whereupon  the  great  government,  in  the 
person  of  Mr.  Fox,  then  and  there  falls  in 
spirit  upon  the  neck  of  her  French  citizen- 
children,  represented  by  Sorel  and  Fidele,  and 
full  reconciliation  is  made. 


250  IN    MADEIRA   PLACE. 

Yes,  Mr.  Fox  will  come  again.  M.  Sorel 
must  introduce  him  to  those  brave  Frenchmen, 
his  friends  and  neighbors;  Mr.  Fox  must  grasp 
them  by  the  hand,  one  by  one.  Sorel  must 
take  him  to  the  Societt  des  Franco- Ame'ricains, 
where  they  gather.  The  government  wishes 
to  know  them  better.  And  (this  in  a  con- 
fidential whisper)  there  may  be  other  places 
to  be  filled.  What!  Suppose,  now,  that  the 
government  should  some  day  demand  the  ser- 
vices of  M.  Sorel  himself  in  the  custom-house ; 
and,  since  he  is  a  business  man,  at  a  still  larger 
salary  than  a  thousand  dollars  a  year ! 

''Ah,  monsieur"  (in  a  tone  of  playful  re- 
proach), "  vous  $tes  un  flatteur,  riest  ce  pas  ? 
You  know,  —  I  guess  you  giv'n'  me  taffy." 

Such  a  hero  as  Fidele  is !  No  more  bal- 
loons, no  more  carting  about  of  "  ma  musique ;  " 
a  square  room  upstairs,  a  bottle  of  wine  at  din- 
ner, short  hours,  distinction,  —  in  fine,  all  that 
the  heart  can  wish. 

I  have  been  speaking  in  the  present :  I  should 
have  spoken  in  the  past. 


IN   MADEIRA   PLACE.  25! 

It  was  shortly  after  Fidele's  appointment  — 
in  the  early  autumn  —  that  I  first  made  his  and 
Sorel's  acquaintance. 

I  was  teaching  in  an  evening  school,  not  far 
from  Madeira  Place,  and  among  my  scholars 
was  Sorel's  only  son,  a  boy  of  perhaps  fourteen, 
whom  his  father  had  left  behind,  for  a  time,  at 
school  in  France,  and  had  but  lately  brought 
over.  He  was  a  shy,  modest,  intelligent  little 
fellow,  utterly  out  of  place  in  his  rude  sur- 
roundings. From  the  pleasant  village  home- 
school,  of  which  he  sometimes  told  me,  to  the 
Maison  Sorel,  was  a  grating  change. 

He  was  always  waiting  for  me  at  the  school- 
room door,  and  was  always  the  last  one  to 
speak  to  me  at  closing.  Perhaps  I  reminded 
him  of  some  young  usher  whom  he  had  known 
when  life  was  more  pleasant. 

If,  however,  the  Maison  Sorel  chafed  Au- 
guste,  it  was  not  for  lack  of  affection  on  his 
father's  part.  Sorel  often  came  with  him  to 
the  door  of  the  school-room ;  and  every  night, 
rain  or  shine,  he  was  there  at  nine  to  accom- 
pany him  home.  It  was  in  this  way  that  I  first 
came  to  know  Sorel;  and  whether  it  was  from 


252  IN   MADEIRA   PLACE. 

some  kindness  that  Auguste  may  have  thought 
I  showed,  or  because  I  could  talk  a  little  French, 
Sorel  took  a  great  liking  to  me.  At  first,  he 
and  Auguste  would  walk  with  me  a  few  blocks 
after  school;  then  he  would  look  in  upon  me 
for  a  few  minutes  at  the  law-office  where  I  was 
studying,  where  I  had  a  large  anteroom  to  my- 
self; finally,  nothing  would  do  but  that  I  should 
visit  him  at  his  house.  I  had  always  been  fond 
of  strolling  about  the  wharves,  and  I  should 
have  liked  very  well  to  stop  occasionally  at 
Sorel's,  if  I  could  have  been  allowed  to  sit  in 
the  kitchen  and  hear  the  general  conversation. 
But  this  was  not  sufficient  state  for  "  M.  le 
maitre  d'ecole^  I  must  be  drawn  off  upstairs 
to  the  bedroom  parlor,  to  hear  of  Auguste's 
virtues.  Such  devotion  I  have  seldom  seen. 
Sorel  would  have  praised  Auguste,  with  tears 
in  his  eyes,  for  hours  together,  if  I  would  have 
stayed  to  listen. 

He  had  many  things  to  show  in  that  parlor. 
He  had  gyroscopes :  and  he  would  wind  them 
up  and  set  half-a-dozen  of  those  anti-natural 
tops  spinning  straight  out  in  the  air  for  my 
diversion.  There  were  great  sacks  of  uninflated 


IN   MADEIRA   PLACE.  253 

balloons,  and  delicate  sheet-rubber,  from  which 
Sorel  made  up  balloons.  There  were  other 
curious  things  in  rubber,  —  a  tobacco-pouch, 
for  example,  in  perfect  outward  imitation  of 
an  iron  kilogramme-weight,  with  a  ring  to  lift 
it  by,  warranted  to  create  "  immense  surprise " 
among  those  who  should  lift  it  for  iron;  to- 
bacco-pouches, too,  in  fac-simile  of  lobsters 
and  crabs  and  reptiles,  colored  to  nature,  which 
Sorel  assured  me  would  cause  roars  of  laughter 
among  my  friends:  there  was  no  pleasanter 
way,  he  said,  of  entertaining  an  evening  com- 
pany than  suddenly  to  display  one  of  these 
creatures,  and  make  the  ladies  scream  and  run 
about.  He  presented  me,  at  different  times, 
with  a  gyroscope,  a  kilogramme-weight,  and  a 
lobster  with  a  blue  silk  lining. 

As  time  ran  on,  and,  in  the  early  winter,  I  be- 
gan practice,  Sorel  brought  me  a  little  business. 
He  had  to  sue  two  Graeco-Roman  wrestlers 
for  board  and  attach  their  box-office  receipts. 
Some  Frenchman  had  heard  of  a  little  legacy 
left  him  in  the  Calvados,  and  wanted  me  to 
look  up  the  matter. 

Fidele,,  too,  came  to  me  every  quarter-day,  to 


254  IN   MADEIRA   PLACE. 

make  oath  before  me  to  his  pension  certificate, 
and  stopped  and  made  a  short  call.  He  had 
little  to  say  about  France.  His  great  romance 
had  been  the  war,  although  it  seemed  to  have 
fused  itself  into  a  hazy,  high-colored  dream  of 
danger,  excitement,  suffering,  and  generous  de- 
votion. Tears  always  rose  in  his  eyes  when 
he  spoke  of  "  la  republique" 

In  those  first  days  of  practice,  anything  by 
the  name  of  law  business  wore  a  halo,  and  I 
used  to  encourage  Sorel's  calls,  partly  for  this 
reason  and  partly  for  practice  in  talking  French 
with  a  common  man.  I  hoped  to  go  to  France 
some  day,  and  I  wanted  to  be  able  then  to  talk 
not  only  with  the  grammatical,  but  with  the 
dear  people  who  say,  "  I  guess  likely,"  and 
"How  be  you?"  in  French. 

Moreover,  Sorel  was  rather  amusing.  He  was 
something  of  a  humorist.  Once  he  came  to  tell 
me,  excitedly,  that  Auguste  was  learning  music : 
"  //  touche  au  violon,  —  mats  —  'e  play  so  bien  !  " 
And  Sorel's  eyes  opened  in  wonder  at  the  boy's 
quickness. 

"  Who  teaches  him  ? "  I  asked.  "  Some  French- 
man who  plays  in  the  theatre?" 


IN   MADEIRA   PLACE.  255 

"  Mais,  no,"  Sorel  replied,  with  a  broad  droll- 
ery in  his  eye  ;  "  un  profc sseur  d 'occasion  !  "  It 
was  a  ruined  music-teacher,  engaged  now  in 
selling  balloons  from  Madeira  Place,  who  was 
the  "  prof  ess  eur  cC  occasion" 

One  day  Sorel  appeared  with  a  great  story 
to  tell.  Auguste,  it  seemed,  had  wearied  of 
home,  and  was  determined  to  go  to  sea.  Noth- 
ing could  deter  him.  Whereupon  M.  Sorel 
had  hit  upon  a  stratagem.  He  had  hunted 
up,  somewhere  along  the  wharves,  two  French 
sailors  with  conversational  powers,  and  had 
retained  them  to  stay  at  his  house  for  two  or 
three  days,  as  chance  comers.  It  was  inevi- 
table that  Auguste  should  ply  them  with  eager 
questions,  —  and  they  knew  their  part. 

As  Sorel,  entering  into  the  situation  now  writh 
all  his  dramatic  nature,  with  his  eyes  wide  open, 
repeated  to  me  some  of  the  tales  of  horror 
which  they  had  palmed  off  upon  innocent 
Auguste  as  spontaneous  truth,  I  could  see, 
myself,  the  rigging  covered  with  ice  an  inch 
thick;  sailors  climbing  up  ("  Ah !  comme  Us 
grimpent,  —  Us  grimpent  !  ")  bare-handed,  their 
hands  freezing  to  the  ropes  at  every  touch,  and 


256  IN  MADEIRA   PLACE. 

leaving  flesh  behind,  "  comme  if  you  put  your 
tongue  to  a  lam'post  in  the  winter."  I  could 
see  the  seamen's  backs  cut  up  with  lashes  for 
the  slightest  offences ;  I  tasted  the  foul,  un- 
wholesome food.  I  think  that  Sorel  half  be- 
lieved it  all  himself,  —  his  imagination  was  so 
powerful,  —  forgetting  that  he  had  paid  in  silver 
coin  for  every  word  of  it.  At  any  rate,  the 
ruse  had  been  successful.  Auguste  had  been 
thoroughly  scared  and  had  consented  to  stay 
at  home,  and  the  most  threatening  cloud  of 
Sorel's  life  had  blown  over. 

Usually,  however,  Sorel  and  I  talked  politics ; 
and  to  our  common  pleasure  we  generally 
agreed.  Sorel  knew  very  little  about  the  de- 
tails of  our  government,  and  he  would  listen  to 
me  with  the  utmost  eagerness  while  I  practised 
my  French  upon  him,  explaining  to  his  wonder- 
ing mind  the  relations  of  the  States  to  each  other 
and  to  the  general  government,  and  the  system 
of  State  and  Federal  courts.  He  was  very  quick, 
and  he  took  in  the  ingenious  scheme  with  great 
facility.  Then  he  would  tell  me  about  the 
workings  of  government  in  the  French  villages 
and  departments;  and  as  he  read  French 


IN   MADEIRA   PLACE.  257 

papers,  he  had  always  something  in  the  way 
of  news  or  explanation  of  recent  events.  I 
have  since  come  to  believe  that  he  was  ex- 
ceedingly well  informed. 

The  most  singular  thing  about  him  to  me 
was  how  he  could  cherish  on  the  one  hand 
such  devotion  as  he  plainly  did,  to  France, 
and  on  the  other  hand  such  a  passionate  attach- 
ment to  the  United  States.  In  truth,  that  double 
patriotism  is  one  of  the  characteristic  features 
of  our  country. 

I  could  lead  him,  in  twenty  minutes,  through 
the  whole  gamut  of  emotion,  by  talking  about 
Auguste,  and  then  of  politics.  It  was  irresisti- 
ble, the  temptation  to  lead  him  out.  A  word 
about  Auguste,  and  he  would  wipe  tears  from 
his  eyes.  A  mention  of  Gambetta,  and  the 
bare  idea  filled  him  with  enthusiasm ;  he  was 
instantly,  in  imagination,  one  of  a  surging 
crowd,  throwing  his  hat  in  the  air,  or  drawing 
Gambetta's  carriage  through  the  streets  of 
Paris.  I  had  only  to  speak  of  Alsace  to  bring 
him  to  a  mood  of  sullen  ugliness  and  hatred. 
He  was,  I  have  no  doubt,  a  pretty  good-tem- 
pered man;  he  was  certainly  warm-hearted; 
17 


258  IN   MADEIRA   PLACE. 

his  apparent  harshness  to  his  balloon-venders 
was  probably  nothing  more  than  necessary 
parental  severity,  and  he  was  always  ready  to 
recognize  their  successes.  But  I  have  never 
seen  a  more  wicked  and  desperate  expression 
than  an  allusion  to  Alsace  called  up  in  his  face 
and  in  his  whole  bearing.  Sometimes  he  would 
laugh,  when  I  mentioned  the  severed  province ; 
but  it  was  with  a  hard,  metallic,  cruel  laugh. 
He  felt  the  loss  as  he  would  have  felt  the  loss 
of  a  limb.  The  first  time  I  brought  up  the 
topic,  I  saw  the  whole  bitter  story  of  the  dis- 
membering of  France. 

There  was  another  subject  which  called  out 
that  same  bitter  revengeful  look,  and  that 
cruel  nasal  laugh,  —  the  royalist  factions  and 
the  Bonapartists.  When  we  spoke  of  them, 
and  I  watched  his  face  and  heard  his  soulless 
laughter,  I  saw  the  French  Revolution. 

But  he  could  always  be  brought  back  to  open 
childish  delight  and  warmth  by  a  reference  to 
the  United  States.  Our  government,  in  his 
eyes,  embodied  all  that  was  good.  France  was 
now  a  "  rtpubiiqut"  to  be  sure,  and  he  rejoiced 
in  the  fact ;  but  he  plainly  felt  the  power  and 


IN  MADEIRA   PLACE.  259 

settled  stability  of  our  republic,  and  he  seemed 
to  have  a  filial  devotion  toward  it  closely  akin 
to  his  love  for  Auguste. 

How  fortunate  we  were !  Here  were  no 
Ltgitimistes ,  no  Ortianistes,  no  Bonapartistes, 
for  a  perpetual  menace  !  Here  all  citizens, 
however  else  their  views  might  differ,  believed, 
at  least,  in  the  republic,  and  desired  to  stay  her 
hands.  There  were  no  factions  here  continually 
plotting  in  the  darkness.  Here  the  machinery 
of  government  was  all  in  view,  and  open  to  dis- 
cussion and  improvement.  Ah,  what  a  proud, 
happy  country  is  this !  "  Que  c*est  une  rt- 
publique  !  " 

I  gathered  enthusiasm  myself  from  this  stran- 
ger's ardor  for  the  country  of  his  adoption. 
I  think  that  I  appreciated  better,  through  him, 
the  free  openness  of  our  institutions.  It  is  of 
great  advantage  to  meet  an  intense  man,  of 
associations  different  from  your  own,  who,  by 
his  very  intensity  and  narrowness,  instantly  puts 
you  at  his  standpoint.  I  viewed  the  United 
States  from  the  shores  of  a  sister  republic  which 
has  to  contend  against  strong  and  organized 
political  forces  not  fully  recognized  in  the  laws, 


26O  IN   MADEIRA   PLACE.  • 

working  beneath  the  surface,  which  nevertheless 
are  facts. 

One  acquaintance  leads  to  another.  Through 
Sorel,  whose  house  was  the  final  resort  of 
Frenchmen  in  distress,  and  their  asylum  if  they 
were  helpless,  not  only  Fidele,  but  a  number  of 
other  Frenchmen  of  that  neighborhood,  began 
to  come  to  me  with  their  small  affairs.  I  was 
the  avocat  who  "  speak  French."  I  am  afraid 
that  they  were  surprised  at  my  "  French  "  when 
they  heard  it. 

There  was  a  willow-worker  from  the  Pas-de- 
Calais,  a  deformed  man,  walking  high  and  low, 
and  always  wanting  to  rise  from  his  chair  and 
lay  his  hand  upon  my  shoulder,  as  he  talked, 
who  came  to  consult  me  about  the  recovery  of 
a  hundred  francs  which  he  had  advanced  at 
Anvers  to  a  Belgian  tailor  upon  the  pledge  of 
a  sewing-machine,  on  consideration  that  the 
tailor,  who  was  to  come  in  a  different  steamer, 
should  take  charge  of  the  willow-worker's  dog 
on  the  voyage:  the  willow-worker  had  a  wife 
and  six  children  to  look  after.  This  was  a  lofty 
contest ;  but  I  had  time  then.  I  found  a  little 


IN  MADEIRA   PLACE.  26 1 

amusement  in  the  case,  and  I  had  the  advan- 
tage of  two  or  three  hours  in  all  of  practical 
French  conversation  with  men  thoroughly  in 
earnest.  Finally,  I  had  the  satisfaction  of  set- 
tling their  dispute,  and  so  keeping  them  from 
a  quarrel. 

Then  there  was  a  French  cook,  out  of  a  job, 
[who  wanted  me  to  find  him  a  place.  He  was 
gathering  mushrooms,  meanwhile,  for  the  hotels. 
One  day  he  surprised  me  by  coming  into  my 
office  in  a  white  linen  cap,  brandishing  in  his 
hand  a  long,  gleaming  knife.  He  only  desired, 
however,  to  tell  me  that  he  had  found  a  place 
at  one  of  the  clubs,  and  to  show,  in  his  pride, 
.the  shining  blade  which  he  had  just  bought  as 
his  equipment. 

But  the  man  who  impressed  me  most,  after 
Sorel,  was  Carron.  He  first  appeared  as  the 
friend  of  the  cook,  —  whom  he  introduced  to  me, 
with  many  flourishes  and  compliments,  although 
he  was  an  utter  stranger  himself.  Carron  was  a 
well-built  and  rather  handsome  man,  of  medium 
height,  and  was  then  perhaps  fifty  years  of  age. 
He  had  a  remarkably  bright,  intelligent  face, 
curling  brown  hair,  and  a  full,  wavy  brown 


262  IN  MADEIRA   PLACE. 

beard.  He  kept  a  rival  boarding-house,  not 
far  from  Sorel's,  in  a  gabled  wooden  house  two 
hundred  years  old,  which  was  anciently  the 
home  of  an  eminent  Puritan  divine.  In  the  oak- 
panelled  room  where  the  theologian  wrote  his 
famous  tract  upon  the  Carpenter  who  Profanely 
undertook  to  Dispense  the  Word  in  the  way 
of  Public  Ministration,  and  was  Divinely  struck 
Dumb  in  consequence,  Carron  now  sold  beer 
from  a  keg. 

It  was  plain  at  a  glance  that  his  present  was 
not  of  a  piece  with  his  past.  I  could  not  place 
him.  His  manners  were  easy  and  agreeable, 
and  yet  he  was  not  a  gentleman.  He  was  well 
informed,  and  evidently  of  some  mental  train- 
ing, and  yet  he  was  not  quite  an  educated  man. 
After  his  first  visit  to  me,  with  the  cook,  he,  too, 
occasionally  looked  in  upon  me,  generally  late 
in  the  afternoon,  when  I  could  call  the  day's 
work  done  and  could  talk  French  for  half  an 
hour  with  him,  in  place  of  taking  a  walk.  He 
was  strongly  dramatic,  like  Sorel,  but  in  a  dif- 
ferent way.  Sorel  was  intense ;  Carron  was 
thedtral.  He  was  very  fond  of  declamation; 
and  seeing  from  the  first  my  wish  to  learn 


IN   MADEIRA   PLACE.  263 

French,  —  which  Sorel  would  never  very  defi- 
nitely recognize,  —  he  often  recited  to  me,  for 
ear  practice,  and  in  an  exceedingly  effective 
way,  passages  from  the  Old  Testament.  He 
seemed  to  know  the  Psalms  by  heart.  He  was 
a  good  deal  of  an  actor,  and  he  took  the  part 
of  a  Hebrew  prophet  with  great  effect.  But  his 
fervor  was  all  stage  fire,  and  he  would  turn  in 
an  instant  from  a  denunciatory  Psalm  to  a  hu- 
morous story.  Even  his  stories  were  of  a  relig- 
ious cast,  like  those  which  ministers  relate  when 
they  gather  socially.  He  told  me  once  about  a 
priest  who  was  strolling  along  the  bank  of  the 
Loire,  when  a  drunken  sailor  accosted  him 
and  reviled  him  as  a  lazy  good-for-nothing, 
a  faMant,  and  slapped  his  face.  The  priest 
only  turned  the  other  cheek  to  him.  "  Strike 
again,"  he  said  ;  and  the  sailor  struck.  "  Now, 
my  friend,"  said  the  priest,  "  the  Scripture  tells 
us  that  when  one  strikes  us  we  are  to  turn 
the  other  cheek.  There  it  ends  its  instruction 
and  leaves  us  to  follow  our  own  judgment." 
Whereupon,  being  a  powerful  man,  he  collared 
the  sailor  and  plunged  him  into  the  water. 
He  told  me,  too,  with  great  unction,  and  with 


264  IN   MADEIRA   PLACE. 

a  roguish  gleam  in  his  eye,  a  story  of  a  small 
child  who  was  directed  to  prepare  herself  for 
confession,  and,  being  given  a  manual  for  self- 
examination,  found  the  wrong  places,  and  ap- 
peared with  this  array  of  sins :  "  I  have  been 
unfaithful  to  my  marriage  vows.  ...  I  have 
not  made  the  tour  of  my  diocese." 

Carron  had  an  Irish  wife  (line  Irlandaise), 
much  younger  than  he,  whom  he  worshipped. 
He  told  me,  one  day,  about  his  courtship. 
When  he  first  met  her,  she  knew  not  a  word 
of  French,  and  he  not  a  word  of  English.  He 
was  greatly  captivated  (efiris),  and  he  had  to 
contrive  some  mode  of  communication.  They 
were  both  Catholics.  He  had  a  prayer-book 
with  Latin  and  French  in  parallel  columns ; 
she  had  a  similar  prayer-book  but  in  Latin 
and  English.  They  would  seat  themselves; 
Carron  would  find  in  his  prayer-book  a  sen- 
tence in  French  which  would  suit  his  turn,  on 
a  pinch,  and  through  the  medium  of  the  Latin 
would  find  the  corresponding  passage  in  Eng- 
lish in  Norah's  prayer-book  and  point  it  out 
to  her.  Norah,  in  her  turn,  would  select  and 
point  out  some  passage  in  English  which  would 


IN   MADEIRA   PLACE.  265 

serve  as  a  tribute  to  Carron's  charms,  and  he 
would  discover  in  his  prayer-book,  in  French, 
what  that  tribute  was.  Why  should  we  deem 
the  dead  languages  no  longer  a  practical  study, 
when  Latin  can  gain  for  a  Frenchman  an  Irish 
wife ! 

Carron,  as  I  have  said,  puzzled  me.  He  had 
not  the  pensive  air  of  one  who  has  seen  better 
days.  He  was  more  than  cheerful  in  his  pres- 
ent life :  he  was  full  of  spirits ;  and  yet  it  was 
plain  that  he  had  been  brought  up  for  some- 
thing different.  I  asked  him  once  to  tell  me, 
for  French  lessons,  the  story  of  his  life.  With 
the  most  charming  complaisance,  he  at  once 
consented;  but  he  proceeded  in  such  endless 
detail,  the  first  time,  in  an  account  of  his  early 
boyhood  in  a  strict  Benedictine  monastery 
school,  in  the  south  of  France,  as  to  suggest 
that  he  was  talking  against  time.  And  al- 
though his  spirited  and  amusing  picture  of  his 
childhood  days  only  awakened  my  curiosity, 
I  could  never  persuade  him  to  resume  the  his- 
tory. It  was  always  "  the  next  time." 

He  seemed  to  be  poor:  but  he  never  asked 
a  favor  except  for  others.  On  the  contrary, 


266  IN   MADEIRA    PLACE. 

he  brought  me  some  little  business.  A  Beige 
had  been  cheated  out  of  five  hundred  dollars; 
I  recovered  half  of  it  for  him.  A  Frenchman 
from  le  Midi  had  bought  out  a  little  business, 
and  the  seller  had  immediately  set  up  shop  next 
door;  I  succeeded  in  shutting  up  the  rival.  I 
was  a  prodigy. 

After  a  time  I  was  told  something  further  as 
to  Carron' s  life.  He  had  been  a  Capuchin  monk, 
in  a  monastery  at  or  near  Paris.  The  instant  that 
I  heard  this  statement,  I  felt  in  my  very  soul 
that  it  was  true.  My  eye  had  always  missed 
something  in  Carron.  I  now  knew  exactly 
what  it  was,  —  a  shaved  crown,  bare  feet,  and  a 
cowl. 

It  was  the  usage  for  the  brethren  of  his  order 
to  go  about  Paris  barefoot,  begging.  They 
were  not  permitted  by  the  concierges  to  go 
into  the  great  apartment  hotels.  But  "  Carron, 
/'/  est  trh  fin"  said  my  informant ;  "  you  know, 
—  'e  is  var'  smart."  Carron  would  learn,  by  care- 
ful inquiry,  the  name  of  a  resident  on  an  upper 
floor ;  then  he  would  appear  at  the  concierge's 
door,  and  would  mention  the  name  of  this  resi- 
dent with  such  adroit,  demure,  and  absolute 


IN  MADEIRA  PLACE.  267 

confidence  that  he  would  be  permitted  at  once 
to  ascend.  Once  inside,  he  would  go  the 
rounds  of  the  apartments.  So  he  would  get 
five  times  as  much  in  a  day  as  any  of  his  fel- 
lows. A  certain  amount  of  the  receipts  he 
would  yield  up  to  the  treasury  of  the  monas- 
tery; the  rest  he  kept  for  himself.  After  a 
while  this  came  to  be  suspected,  and  he  quietly 
withdrew  to  a  new  country. 

There  was  not  the  slightest  tangible  corrobo- 
ration  of  this  story.  It  might  have  been  the 
merest  gossip  or  the  invention  of  an  enemy. 
But  it  fitted  Carron  so  perfectly,  that  from  the 
day  I  heard  it  I  could  never,  somehow,  ques- 
tion its  substantial  truth.  If  I  had  questioned 
it,  I  should  have  repeated  the  story  to  him,  to 
give  him  an  opportunity  to  answer.  But  some- 
thing warned  me  not  to  do  so. 

Fidele  held  on  well  at  the  custom-house,  and 
I  think  that  he  became  a  general  favorite.  No 
one  who  took  the  old  soldier  by  the  hand  and 
looked  him  in  the  eye  could  question  his  abso- 
lute honesty ;  and  as  for  skill  in  his  duties,  — 
well,  it  was  the  custom-house. 


268  IN   MADEIRA   PLACE. 

But  he  was  not  saving  much  money.  He  was 
free  to  give  and  free  to  lend  to  his  fellow-country- 
men ;  and,  moreover,  various  ways  were  pointed 
out  to  him  by  Mr.  Fox,  from  time  to  time,  in 
which  an  old  soldier,  delighting  to  aid  his  coun- 
try, could  serve  her  pecuniarily.  The  republic, 
—  that  is,  the  Republicans,  —  it  was  all  one. 

One  afternoon,  late  in  summer,  Fidele  ap- 
peared at  my  office.  He  seldom  visited  me, 
except  quarterly  for  his  pension  affidavit.  As 
he  came  in  now,  I  saw  that  something  had  hap- 
pened. His  grisly  face  wore  the  same  kindly 
smile  that  it  had  always  borne,  but  the  light 
had  gone  out  of  it.  His  story  was  short.  He 
had  lost  his  place.  He  had  been  notified  that 
his  services  would  not  be  needed  after  Satur- 
day. No  reason  had  been  given  him ;  he  was 
simply  dismissed  in  humiliation.  There  must 
be  some  misunderstanding,  such  as  occurs  be- 
tween the  warmest  friends.  And  was  not  the 
great  government  his  friend?  Did  it  not  send 
him  his  pension  regularly?  Had  it  not  sent  a 
special  messenger  to  seek  him  out,  in  his  ob- 
scurity, for  this  position ;  and  was  he  not  far 
better  suited  to  it  now  than  at  the  outset? 


IN   MADEIRA   PLACE.  269 

In  reply  to  questions  from  me,  he  told  me 
more  about  Mr.  Fox's  first  visit  than  I  had 
hitherto  known.  I  asked  him,  in  a  casual  way, 
about  the  ward-meetings,  and  whether  the 
French  citizens  generally  attended  them.  No, 
they  had  been  dropping  off";  they  had  become 
envious,  perhaps,  of  him;  they  had  formed  a 
club,  with  Carron  for  president,  and  had  voted 
to  act  in  a  body  {en  solidarite). 

Then  I  told  Fidele  that  I  knew  no  way  to 
help  him,  and  that  I  feared  his  dismission  was 
final.  He  could  not  understand  me,  but  went 
away,  leaning  on  his  cane,  dragging  his  left  foot 
sidewise  behind  him,  with  something  of  the  air 
of  an  old  faithful  officer  who  has  been  deprived 
of  his  sword. 

He  had  not  been  gone  more  than  an  hour, 
when  the  door  opened  again,  and  Carron  looked 
in.  Seeing  that  I  was  alone,  he  closed  the  door 
and  walked  very  slowly  toward  my  desk,  — 
erect,  demure,  impassive,  looking  straight  for- 
ward and  not  at  me,  with  an  air  as  if  he  were 
bearing  a  candle  in  high  mass,  intoning,  as  he 
came,  a  passage  from  the  Psalms :  "  Je  me  r£- 
jouirai  ;  jc  partagerai  Sichem,  et  je  mesurerai  la 


270  IN   MADEIRA   PLACE. 

vallee  de  Succoth.  Galaad  sera  a  moi,  Manas se 
sera  a  moi.  .  .  .  Moab  sera  le  bassin  ou  je  me 
laverai,  et  je  jetterai  mon  soulier  S2ir  Edom.  .  .  . 
Qui  est-ce  qiii  me  conduira  dans  la  ville  forte  ? 
Qui  est-ce  qui  me  conduira  jusqu  en  Edom  ?  "  (I 
will  rejoice;  I  will  divide  Shechem  and  mete 
out  the  valley  of  Succoth.  Gilead  is  mine;  Ma- 
nasseh  is  mine.  .  .  .  Moab  is  my  washpot ;  over 
Edom  will  I  cast  out  my  shoe.  .  .  .  Who  will 
bring  me  into  the  strong  city?  Who  will  lead 
me  into  Edom?) 

Carron  propounded  the  closing  inquiry  with 
great  unction ;  his  manner  expressed  entire 
confidence  that  some  one  would  be  found  to 
lead  him  into  the  strong  city,  to  lead  him  into 
Edom. 

I  had  lost  something  of  my  interest  in  Car- 
ron since  I  had  heard  the  story  of  his  Parisian 
exploits;  but  I  could  not  help  being  amused 
at  his  manner.  It  portended  something.  He 
made  no  disclosure,  however.  Whatever  he  had 
to  tell,  he  went  away  without  telling  it,  content- 
ing himself  for  the  present  with  intimating  by 
his  triumphal  manner  that  great  good  fortune 
was  in  the  air. 


IN  MADEIRA   PLACE.  271 

On  Saturday  afternoon,  as  I  was  about  clos- 
ing my  desk, —  a  little  earlier  than  usual,  for  it 
was  a  most  tempting  late  September  day,  and 
the  waves  of  the  harbor,  which  I  could  just  see 
from  my  office  window,  called  loudly  to  me,  — 
Sorel  appeared.  I  held  out  my  hand,  but  he 
affected  not  to  see  it,  and  he  sat  down  without  a 
word.  He  was  plainly  disturbed  and  somewhat 
excited. 

Of  course  I  knew  that  it  was  his  old  friend's 
misfortune  which  weighed  upon  him;  he  was 
proud  and  fond  of  Fidele. 

I  seated  myself,  and  waited  for  him  to  speak. 
In  a  moment  he  began,  with  a  low,  hard  laugh : 
"  Semble  que  notre  bon  Fiddle  a  sa  demission  : 
you  know,  —  our  Fidele  got  bounced  !  " 

Yes,  I  said,  Fidele  had  told  me  so,  and  I  was 
very  sorry  to  hear  it. 

"  Evidcmment "  (this  in  a  tone  of  irony)  "  il 
fant  un  homme  plus  juste,  plus  lay  ale,  que  le 
pauvre  Fiddle!  You  know,  —  they  got  to  'ave 
one  more  honester  man !  Bien !  You  know 
who  goin'  'ave  'is  place?" 

I  shook  my  head. 

Sorel  laid  down  his  hat,  arid  wiped  his  brow 


272  IN   MADEIRA    PLACE. 

with  his  handkerchief.     Then  he   went   on,  no 
longer  speaking  in  French  and  then  translating, 

—  his  usual  concession  to  my  supposed  desires, 

—  but  mostly  now  in  quasi-English:  " Mais, you 
thing  this  great  gouvernement  wan'  hones'  men 
work  for  her,  riest-ce  pas?" 

"  The  government  ought  to  have  the  most 
honest  men,"  I  said. 

"  Bien.  Now  you  thing  the  gouvernement 
boun'  to  'ave  some  men  w'at  mos'  know  the  bus- 
i-ness,  tiest-ce pas? " 

16  It  ought  to  have  them." 

Sorel  wiped  his  brow  again.  "  Now,  w'ich 
you  thing  the  mos'  honestes'  man,  —  Fidele,  or 

—  Carron  ?     W'ich    you    thing   know   the  bus- 
i-ness  bes',  —  Fidele,  w'at  been  there,  or  Carron, 
w'at  ain'  been  there?" 

"Fidele,  of  course." 

"Then  tell  me,  w'at  for  they  bounce'  our 
Fidele,  and  let  Carron  got  'is  place?"  and  he 
burst  into  a  harsh,  resonant,  contemptuous  laugh. 
In  a  moment  he  resumed :  "  Now,"  he  said, 
"  I  only  got  one  more  thing  to  ax  you,"  and 
taking  his  felt  hat  in  his  hands,  he  held  it  on  his 
knees,  before  him,  and  stooping  a  little  forward, 


IN  MADEIRA   PLACE.  2/3 

eyed  me  closely:  "You  knoww'atwe  talk  some- 
times, you  an'  me,  'bout  our  Frensh  rtpublique 
—  some  Orle'anistes,  some  Ldgitimistes,  some 
Bonapartistes  ?  You  merember  'ow  we  talk, 
you  and  me?" 

I  nodded. 

"  We  ain'  got  no  OrUanistes,  no  Bonap artistes! 
id,  in  this gouvernement,  riest-ce pas? " 

I  intimated  that  I  had  never  met  any. 

"  Now,"  he  proceeded,  with  an  increased  bit- 
terness in  his  tone  and  his  hard  smile,  "  I  use' 
thing  you  one  good  frien'  to  me,  mats,  you  been 
makin'  fool  of  me  all  that  time  !  " 

"  You  don't  think  any  such  thing,"  I  said. 

"  You  know,"  he  went  on,  "  who  bounce  our 
Fidele?" 

"  No." 

Sorel  received  my  reply  with  a  low,  incredu- 
lous laugh.  Then  he  laid  his  hat  down  on  the 
floor,  drew  his  chair  closer,  held  out  his  finger, 
and,  with  the  air  of  one  who  shows  another  that 
he  knows  his  secret  he  demanded :  — 

"  Qu'est-ce  que  c'est  qu'ttn  '  Boss  '  ?  " 

I  sat  silent  for  a  moment,  looking  at  him,  not 
knowing  just  what  to  say. 
18 


2/4  IN  MADEIRA   PLACE. 

"  Mais,"  he  went  on,  "  all  the  Americains " 
(they  were  chiefly  Irish)  "  roun'  my  'ouse  been 
tellin'  me,  long  time,  '  Le  Boss  goin'  bounce 
Fidele.'  Me,  I  laugh  w'en  they  say  so.  I  say, 
'  LeBoss  ?  Cest  un  creature  a"  imagination,  pour 
nous  effrayerj  you  know,  make  us  scar't.  '  Cest 
^ln  loup-garou!  you  know,  —  w'at  make  'fraid  li'l 
chil'ren.  That 's  w'at  I  tell  them.  I  thing  then 
you  would  n't  been  makin'  fool  of  me.' 

"  They  don't  know  what  they  are  talking 
about,"  I  said.  "  How  can  they  know  why 
Fidele  is  removed?" 

''Mais,  you  jus'  wait;  I  goin'  tell  you.  I  fin 
they  do  know.  Fidele  take  he  sol'ier-papers, 
an'  he  go  see  le  chef"  (here  Sorel  rose,  and 
acted  Fidele).  "  Fidele,  'e  show  'is  papers  to 
le  chef;  'e  say,  'Now  you  boun'  tell  me  why 
le  bon  gouvernement,  w'at 's  been  my  frien', 
bounce  me  now.'  'E  say  le  chef  boun'  to  tell 
'im,  —  il  faut  absolument !  'E  say  'e  won'  go, 
way  if  le  chef  don'  tell  'im ;  an'  you  know,  no 
man  can't  scare  our  Fidele !  " 

"  Very  well,"  I  said  ;  "  what  did  the  collector, 
the  chef,  tell  him?  Fidele  is  too  lame,  I 
suppose?  " 


IN  MADEIRA   PLACE.  2/5 

"Mais,  non?  with  a  suspicious  smile.  " Le 
chef,  he  mos'  cry,  —  yas,  sar,  —  an'  'e  say  'e 
ain'  got  no  trouble  'gainst  Fidele ;  la  re'pub- 
liqne,  she  ain'  got  no  trouble  'gainst  Fidele. 
'E  say  'e  di'n  want  Fidele  to  go ;  le  gouverne- 
menty  she  di'n  want  'im  to  go.  Mais,  'e  say, 
'e  can't  help  hisself ;  le  gouvernement,  she  can't 
help  herself.  Yas,  sar.  Then  Fidele  know 
w'at  evarybody  been  tellin'  us  was  true,  —  'e 
'  Boss,'  'e  make  'im  go  !  "  And  Sorel  sat  back  in 
his  chair. 

"  Now,  I  ax  you  one  time  more,  he  resumed : 
"  qucst-ce  que  c'est  qu'un  '  Boss '  ?  " 

What  could  I  say !  How  could  I  explain,  off- 
hand, to  this  stranger,  the  big  boss,  the  little 
boss,  the  State  boss,  the  ward  boss,  the  county 
boss,  all  burrowing  underneath  our  theoretical 
government !  How  could  I  explain  to  him  that 
Fidele's  department  in  the  custom-house  had 
been  allotted  to  a  Congressman  about  to  run 
for  a  second  term,  who  needed  it  to  control 
a  few  more  ward-meetings,  —  needed,  in  the 
third  ward  caucus,  those  very  French  votes 
which  Carron  had  been  shrewd  enough  to  steal 
away  and  organize  !  What  could  I  say  to  Sorel 


2/6  IN   MADEIRA   PLACE. 

which  he,  innocent  as  he  was,  would  not  mis- 
construe as  inconsistent  with  our  past  glorifi- 
cations of  our  republic  !  What  did  I  say  !  I  do 
not  know.  I  only  remember  that  he  inter- 
rupted me,  harshly  and  abruptly,  as  he  rose 
to  go. 

"You  an'  me  got  great  pitie,  ain'  we,"  he 
said,  "  for  notre  France,  la  pauvre  France,  'cause 
she  got  so  many  folks  w'at  tourbillonnent  sous 
la  surface,  —  les  Orleanistes  les  Bonapartistes  ; 
don'  we  say  so  ?  Mais,  il  riy  en  a  pas,  id,  —  you 
know,  we  ain'  got  none  here;  don'  we  say  so? 
We  ain'  got  no  factionnaires  here  !  Mais  non  !  " 
Then,  lowering  his  voice  to  a  hoarse  whisper : 
"  Votre  bonne  republique"  he  said,  —  "  cest  ime 
republique  du  theatre  !  " 

He  had  hardly  closed  the  door  behind  him, 
when  he  opened  it  again,  and  put  in  his  head, 
and  with  his  hard,  mocking  laugh,  demanded, 
"  Quest-ce  que  c'est  qu'un  (  Boss  '  ?  "  And  as  he 
walked  down  the  hall,  I  could  still  hear  his 
scornful  laughter. 

He  never  came  to  see  me  again.  I  sometimes 
heard  of  him  through  Carron,  who  had  succeeded 
to  Fidele's  position  and  had  elevated  a  consid- 


IN   MADEIRA   PLACE.  277 

erable  part  of  his  following :  for  several  weeks 
they  were  employed  at  three  dollars  a  day  in 
the  navy-yard,  where,  to  their  utter  mystifica- 
tion, they  moved,  with  a  certain  planetary  regu- 
larity, ship-timber  from  the  west  to  the  east  side  of 
the  yard,  and  then  back  from  the  east  side  to  the 
west.  You  remember  reading  about  this  in  the 
published  accounts  of  our  late  congressional 
contest. 

Though  Sorel  never  visited  me  again,  I  oc- 
casionally saw  him:  once  near  the  evening- 
school,  when  I  went  as  a  guest;  once  in  the  long 
market;  once  in  the  post-office;  and  once  he 
touched  me  on  the  shoulder,  as  I  was  leaning 
over  the  street -railing,  by  the  dock,  looking 
down  at  a  Swedish  bark.  Each  time  he  had 
but  one  thing  to  say ;  and  having  said  it,  he 
would  break  into  his  harsh,  ironical  laugh,  and 
pass  along:  — 

"  Qiiest-ce  que  c'est  qu'uii  '  Boss  '  ?  " 

And  Fidele? 

Still,  if  you  will  go  to  Madeira  Place  at  sunset, 
you  may  see  the  cap  and  blouse  come  slowly  in. 
Still  the  old  sergeant  sits  at  the  head  of  the 


IN   MADEIRA   PLACE. 

table.  But  his  ideal  is  gone ;  his  idol  has  clay 
feet.  No  longer  does  he  describe  to  new-comers 
from  France  the  receipt  of  his  pension.  All  the 
old  fond  pride  in  it  is  gone,  and  he  takes  the 
money  now  as  dollars  and  cents. 

In  the  conversation,  however,  around  the  table 
the  great  government  at  Washington  is  by  no 
means  forgotten.  Sometimes  Sorel  tells  his 
guests  about  the  Boss. 


THE   NEW  MINISTER'S   GREAT 
OPPORTUNITY. 


'"T^HE  minister's  got  a  job,"  said  Mr.  Snell. 

Mr.  Snell  had  been  driven  in  by 
a  shower  from  the  painting  of  a  barn,  and 
was  now  sitting,  with  one  bedaubed  overall 
leg  crossed  over  the  other,  in  Mr.  Hamblin's 
shop, 

Half-a-dozen  other  men,  who  had  likewise 
found  in  the  rain  a  call  to  leisure,  looked  up 
at  him  inquiringly. 

"  How  do  you  mean?"  said  Mr.  Noyes,  who 
sat  beside  him,  girt  with  a  nail-pocket.  "'The 
minister  's  got  a  job  '  ?  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 
And  Mr.  Noyes  assumed  a  listener's  air,  and 
stroked  his  thin  yellow  beard. 

Mr.  Snell  smiled,  with  half-shut,  knowing 
eyes,  but  made  no  answer. 


28O  THE  NEW  MINISTER'S 

"How  do  you  mean?"  repeated  Mr.  Noyes ; 
"'The  minister's  got  a  job' — of  course  he 
has —  got  a  stiddy  job.  We  knew  that  before." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Mr.  Snell,  with  a  placid 
face;  "  seeing 's  you  know  so  much  about  it, 
enough  said.  Let  it  rest  right  there." 

"  But,"  said  Mr.  Noyes,  nervously  blowing  his 
nose ;  "  you  lay  down  this  proposition :  '  The 
minister 's  got  a  job.'  Now  I  ask,  what  is  it?  " 

Mr.  Snell  uncrossed  his  legs,  and  stooped 
to  pick  up  a  last,  which  he  proceeded  to  scan 
with  a  shrewd,  critical  eye. 

"  Narrer  foot,"  he  said  to  Mr.  Hamblin. 

"  Private  last  —  Dr.  Hunter's,"  said  Mr. 
Hamblin,  laying  down  a  boot  upon  which  he 
was  stitching  an  outer-sole,  and  rising  to  make 
a  ponderous,  elephantine  excursion  across  the 
quaking  shop  to  the  earthen  water-pitcher,  from 
which  he  took  a  generous  draught. 

"Well,  Brother  Snell,"  said  Mr.  Noyes,— 
they  were  members  together  of  a  secret  organi- 
zation, of  which  Mr.  Snell  was  P.  G.  W.  T.  R, — 
"ain't  you  going  to  tell  us?  What — is  this 
job  ?  That  is  to  say,  what  —  er  —  is  it ?  " 

Brother  Snell   set   his  thumbs   firmly  in  the 


GREAT  OPPORTUNITY.  28 1 

armholes  of  his  waistcoat,  surveyed  the  smoke- 
stained  pictures  pasted  on  the  wall,  looked 
keen,  and  softly  whistled. 

At  last  he  condescended  to  explain. 

"  Preaching  Uncle  Capen's  funeral  sermon." 

There  was  a  subdued  general  laugh.  Even 
Mr.  Hamblin's  leathern  apron  shook. 

Mr.  Noyes,  however,  painfully  looking  down 
upon  his  beard  to  draw  out  a  white  hair,  main- 
tained his  serious  expression. 

"  I  don't  see  much  '  job '  in  that,"  he  said ; 
"  a  minister 's  supposed  to  preach  a  hundred  and 
four  sermons  in  each  and  every  year,  and  there  's 
plenty  more  where  they  come  from.  What 's 
one  sermon  more  or  less,  when  stock  costs  noth- 
ing? It's  like  wheeling  gravel  from  the  pit." 

"  O.  K.,"  said  Mr.  Snell ;  "  if 't  ain't  no  trouble, 
then  't  ain't.  But  seeing  's  you  know,  suppose 
you  specify  the  materials  for  this  particular 
discourse." 

Mr.  Noyes  looked  a  little  disconcerted. 

"  Well,"  he  said;  "  of  course,  I  can't  set  here 
and  compose  a  funereal  discourse,  off-hand, 
without  no  writing-desk;  but  there's  stock 
enough  to  make  a  sermon  of,  any  time." 


282  THE  NEW   MINISTER'S 

"  Oh,  come,"  said  Mr.  Snell,  "  don't  sneak 
out:  particularize." 

"  Why,"  said  Mr.  Noyes,  "  you  Ve  only  to  open 
the  leds  of  your  Bible,  and  choose  a  text,  and 
then:  When  did  this  happen?  Why  did  this 
happen?  To  who  did  this  happen?  and  so 
forth  and  so  on ;  and  there 's  your  sermon. 
I  Ve  heard  'em  so  a  hunderd  times." 

"All  right,"  said  Mr.  Snell;  "I  don't  doubt 
you  know;  but  as  for  me,  I  for  one  never 
happened  to  hear  of  anything  that  Uncle  Capen 
did  but  whitewash  and  saw  wood.  Now  what 
sort  of  an  autobiographical  sermon  could  you 
make  out  of  sawing  wood?" 

Whereat  Leander  Buffum  proceeded,  by  that 
harsh,  guttural  noise  well  known  to  country 
boys,  to  imitate  the  sound  of  sawing  through 
a  log.  His  sally  was  warmly  greeted. 

"  The  minister  might  narrate,"  said  Mr. 
Blood,  "  what  Uncle  Capen  said  to  Issachar, 
when  Issachar  told  him  that  he  charged  high 
for  sawing  wood.  '  See  here,'  says  Uncle  Ca- 
pen, '  s'pos'n  I  do.  My  arms  are  shorter  'n 
other  folks's,  and  it  takes  me  just  so  much 
longer  to  do  it.' " 


GREAT   OPPORTUNITY.  283 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Noyes,  "  I  'm  a  fair  man ; 
always  do  exactly  right  is  the  rule  I  go  by; 
and  I  will  frankly  admit,  now  and  here,  that  if 
it 's  a  biographical  discourse  they  want,  they  '11 
have  to  cut  corners." 

"  Pre-cise-\y"  said  Mr.  Snell ;  "  and  that 's  just 
what  they  do  want." 

"Well,  well,"  said  Mr.  Hamblin,  laboriously 
rising  and  putting  his  spectacles  into  their  silver 
case,  —  for  it  was  supper-time,  —  "  joking  one 
side,  if  Uncle  Capen  never  did  set  the  pond 
afire,  we  'd  all  rather  take  his  chances  to-day,  I 
guess,  than  those  of  some  smarter  men." 

At  which  Mr.  Snell  turned  red ;  for  he  was  a 
very  smart  man  and  had  just  failed, — to  every- 
body's surprise,  since  there  was  no  reason  in 
the  world  why  he  should  fail,  —  and  had  cre- 
ated more  merriment  for  the  public  than  joy 
among  his  creditors,  by  paying  a  cent  and  a  half 
on  the  dollar. 

."  Come  in ;  sit  down,"  said  Dr.  Hunter,  as  the 
young  minister  appeared  at  his  office  door;  and 
he  tipped  back  in  his  chair,  and  put  his  feet 
upon  a  table.  "What's  the  news?" 


284  THE  NEW  MINISTER'S 

"  Doctor,"  said  Mr.  Holt,  laughing,  as  he  laid 
down  his  hat  and  took  an  arm-chair;  "you 
told  me  to  come  to  you  for  any  information. 
Now  I  want  materials  for  a  sermon  on  old  Mr. 
Capen." 

The  Doctor  looked  at  him  with  a  half-amused 
expression,  and  then  sending  out  a  curl  of  blue 
smoke,  he  watched  it  as  it  rose  melting  into  the 
general  air. 

"You  don't  smoke,  I  believe?"  he  said  to  the 
minister. 

Holt  smiled  and  shook  his  head. 

The  Doctor  put  his  cigar  back  into  his  mouth, 
clasped  one  knee  in  his  hands,  and  fixed  his 
eyes  in  meditation  on  a  one- eared  Hippocrates 
looking  down  with  a  dirty  face  from  the  top 
of  a  bookcase.  Perhaps  the  Doctor  was  think- 
ing of  the  two  or  three  hundred  complimentary 
visits  he  had  been  permitted  to  make  upon 
Uncle  Capen  within  ten  years. 

Presently  a  smile  broke  over  his  face. 

"  I  must  tell  you,  before  I  forget  it,"  he  said, 
"  how  Uncle  Capen  nursed  one  of  my  patients. 
Years  and  years  ago,  I  had  John  Ellis,  our 
postmaster  now,  down  with  a  fever.  One  night 


GREAT  OPPORTUNITY.  285 

Uncle  Capen  watched — you  know  he  was  spry 
and  active  till  he  was  ninety.  Every  hour  he 
was  to  give  Ellis  a  little  ice-water;  and  when 
the  first  time  came,  he  took  a  table-spoonful 
—  there  was  only  a  dim  light  in  the  room  —  and 
poured  the  ice-water  down  Ellis's  neck.  Well, 
Ellis  jumped,  as  much  as  so  sick  a  man  could, 
and  then  lifted  his  finger  to  his  lips :  '  Here  's 
my  mouth,'  said  he.  '  Why,  why/  said  Uncle 
Capen,  'is  that  your  mouth?  I  took  that  for 
a  wrinkle  in  your  forehead.'  " 

The  minister  laughed. 

"  I  have  heard  a  score  of  such  stories  to-day," 
he  said ;  "  there  seem  to  be  enough  of  them ; 
but  I  can't  find  anything  adapted  to  a  ser- 
mon, and  yet  they  seem  to  expect  a  detailed 
biography." 

"  Ah,  that's  just  the  trouble,"  said  the  Doc- 
tor. "But  let  us  go  into  the  house;  my  wife 
remembers  everything  that  ever  happens,  and 
she  can  post  you  up  on  Uncle  Capen,  if  any- 
body can." 

So  they  crossed  the  door-yard  into  the  house. 

Mrs.  Hunter  was  sewing ;  a  neighbor,  come 
to  tea,  was  crocheting  wristers  for  her  grandson. 


286  THE  NEW  MINISTER'S 

They  were  both  talking  at  once  as  the  Doctor 
opened  the  sitting-room  door. 

"Since  neither  of  you  appears  to  be  listening," 
he  said,  as  they  started  up,  "  I  shall  not  apol- 
ogize for  interrupting.  Mr.  Holt  is  collecting 
facts  about  Uncle  Capen  for  his  funeral  ser- 
mon, and  I  thought  that  my  good  wife  could 
help  him  out,  if  anybody  could.  So  I  will  leave 
him." 

And  the  Doctor,  nodding,  went  into  the  hall 
for  his  coat  and  driving-gloves,  and,  going  out, 
disappeared  about  the  corner  of  the  house. 

"You  will  really  oblige  me  very  much,  Mrs. 
Hunter,"  said  the  minister,  "  —  or  Mrs.  French, 
—  if  you  can  give  me  any  particulars  about 
old  Mr.  Capen's  life.  His  family  seem  to  be 
rather  sensitive,  and  they  depend  on  a  long, 
old-fashioned  funeral  sermon ;  and  here  I  am 
utterly  bare  of  facts." 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Hunter;  "of  course, 
now  —  " 

"  Why,  yes ;  everybody  knows  all  about  him," 
said  Mrs.  French. 

And  then  they  laid  their  work  down  and  re- 
lapsed into  meditation. 


GREAT  OPPORTUNITY.  287 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Mrs.  Hunter,  in  a  moment.  "  No, 
though — " 

"  Why,  you  know,"  said  Mrs.  French,  —  "  no 
—  I  guess,  on  the  whole  —  " 

"  You  remember,"  said  the  Doctor's  wife  to 
Mrs.  French,  with  a  faint  smile,  "  the  time  he 
papered  my  east  chamber  —  don't  you  —  how  he 
made  the  pattern  come?  " 

And  then  they  both  laughed  gently  for  a 
moment. 

"  Well,  I  have  always  known  him,"  said  Mrs. 
French.  "  But  really,  being  asked  so  suddenly, 
it  seems  to  drive  everything  out  of  my  head." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Hunter,  "  and  it's  odd  that  I 
can't  think  of  exactly  the  thing,  just  at  this  min- 
ute ;  but  if  I  do,  I  will  run  over  to  the  parsonage 
this  evening." 

"  Yes,  so  will  I,"  said  Mrs.  French ;  "  I  know 
that  I  shall  think  of  oceans  of  things  just  as  soon 
as  you  are  gone." 

"  Won't  you  stay  to  tea?  "  said  Mrs.  Hunter, 
as  Holt  rose  to  go.  "  The  Doctor  has  gone ; 
but  we  never  count  on  him." 

"  No,  I  thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Holt.  "  If  I  am 
to  invent  a  biography,  I  may  as  well  be  at  it." 


288  THE  NEW  MINISTER'S 

Mrs.  Hunter  went  with  him  to  the  door. 

"  I  must  just  tell  you,"  she  said,  "  one  of  Uncle 
Capen's  sayings.  It  was  long  ago,  at  the  time  I 
was  married  and  first  came  here.  I  had  a  young 
men's  Bible-class  in  Sunday-school,  and  Uncle 
Capen  came  into  it.  He  always  wore  a  cap,  and 
sat  at  meetings  with  the  boys.  So,  one  Sunday, 
we  had  in  the  lesson  that  verse,  —  you  know, — 
that  if  all  these  things  should  be  written,  even 
the  world  itself  could  not  contain  the  books 
that  should  be  written ;  and  there  Uncle  Capen 
stopped  me,  and  said  he,  '  I  suppose  that  means 
the  world  as  known  to  the  ancients?' ' 

Holt  put  on  his  hat,  and  with  a  smile  turned 
and  went  on  his  way  toward  the  parsonage ;  but 
he  remembered  that  he  had  promised  to  call  at 
what  the  local  paper  termed  "  the  late  residence 
of  the  deceased,"  where,  on  the  one  hundredth 
birthday  of  the  centenarian,  according  to  the 
poet's  corner,  — 

"  Friends,  neighbors,  and  visitors  he  did  receive 
From  early  in  the  morning  till  dewy  eve." 

So  he  turned  his  steps  in  that  direction. 
He  opened  the  clicking  latch  of  the  gate  and 
rattled  the  knocker  on  the  front  door  of  the  lit- 


GREAT  OPPORTUNITY.  289 

tie  cottage ;  and  a  tall,  motherly  woman  of  the 
neighborhood  appeared  and  ushered  him  in. 

Uncle  Capen's  unmarried  daughter,  a  woman 
of  sixty,  her  two  brothers  and  their  wives, 
and  half-a-dozen  neighbors  were  sitting  in  the 
tidy  kitchen,  where  a  crackling  wood-fire  in  the 
stove  was  suggesting  a  hospitable  cup  of  tea. 

The  minister's  appearance,  breaking  the  for- 
mal gloom,  was  welcomed. 

"  Well,"  said  Miss  Maria,  "  I  suppose  the  ser- 
mon is  all  writ  by  this  time.  I  think  likely 
you  've  come  down  to  read  it  to  us." 

"  No,"  said  Holt,  "  I  have  left  the  actual  writ- 
ing of  it  till  I  get  all  my  facts.  I  thought 
perhaps  you  might  have  thought  of  something 
else." 

"  No ;  I  told  you  everything  there  was  about 
father  yesterday,"  she  said.  "  I  'm  sure  you  can't 
lack  of  things  to  put  in ;  why,  father  lived  a  hun- 
dred years  —  and  longer,  too,  for  he  was  a  hun- 
dred years  and  six  days,  you  remember." 

"  You   know,"  said   Holt,   "  there  are  a  great 
many  things  that  are  very  interesting  to  a  man's 
immediate  friends  that  don't  interest  the  public." 
And  he  looked  to  Mr.  Small  for  confirmation. 
19 


2QO  THE  NEW   MINISTER'S 

"  Yes,  that 's  so,"  said  Mr.  Small,  nodding 
wisely. 

"  But,  you  see,  father  was  a  centenarian,"  said 
Maria,  "  and  so  that  makes  everything  about 
him  interesting.  It 's  a  lesson  to  the  young,  you 
know." 

"Oh,  yes,  that's  so,"  said  Mr.  Small,  "  if  a 
man  lives  to  be  a  centurion." 

"  Well,  you  all  knew  our  good  friend,"  said 
Mr.  Holt.  "  If  any  of  you  will  suggest  any- 
thing, I  shall  be  very  glad  to  put  it  in." 

Nobody  spoke  for  a  moment. 

"There's  one  interesting  thing,"  said  one  of 
the  sons,  a  little  old  man  much  like  his  father; 
"  that  is,  that  none  of  his  children  have  ever 
gone  meandering  off;  we've  all  remained"  — 
he  might  almost  have  said  remained  seated 
—  "  all  our  lives,  right  about  him." 

"  I  will  allude  to  that,"  said  Mr.  Holt.  "  I 
hope  you  have  something  else,  for  I  am  afraid 
of  running  short  of  material:  you  see  I  am  a 
stranger  here." 

"Why,  I  hope  there  won't  be  any  trouble 
about  it,"  said  Maria,  in  sudden  consternation. 
"  I  was  a  little  afraid  to  give  it  out  to  so  young 


GREAT  OPPORTUNITY.  29 1 

a  man  as  you,  and  I  thought  some  of  giving  the 
preference  to  Father  Cobb,  but  I  did  n't  quite 
like  to  have  it  go  out  of  the  village,  nor  to 
deprive  you  of  the  opportunity;  and  they  all 
assured  me  that  you  was  smart.  But  if  you  're 
feeling  nervous,  perhaps  we  'd  better  have  him 
still ;  he  's  always  ready." 

"  Just  as  you  like,"  said  Holt,  modestly;  "  if  he 
would  be  willing  to  preach  the  sermon,  we  might 
leave  it  that  way,  and  I  will  add  a  few  remarks." 

But  Maria's  zeal  for  Father  Cobb  was  a  flash 
in  the  pan.  He  was  a  sickly  farmer,  a  licensed 
preacher,  who,  when  he  was  called  upon  occa- 
sionally to  meet  a  sudden  exigency,  usually 
preached  on  the  beheading  of  John  the  Baptist. 

"  I  guess  you  've  got  things  enough  to  write," 
said  Maria,  consolingly;  "  you  know  how  awfully 
a  thing  doos  drag  out  when  you  come  to  write  it 
down  on  paper.  Remember  to  tell  how  we  Ve 
all  stayed  right  here." 

When  Holt  went  out,  he  saw  Mr.  Small  beck- 
oning him  to  come  to  where  his  green  wagon 
stood  under  a  tree. 

"  I  must  tell  you,"  he  said,  with  an  awkwardly 


292  THE  NEW  MINISTER'S 

repressed  smile,  "  about  a  trade  of  Uncle  Capen's. 
He  had  a  little  lot  up  our  way  that  they  wanted 
for  a  schoolhouse,  and  he  agreed  to  sell  it  for 
what  it  cost  him,  and  the  selectmen,  knowing 
what  it  cost  him,  —  fifty  dollars,  —  agreed  with 
him  that  way.  But  come  to  sign  the  deed,  he 
called  for  a  hundred  dollars.  *  How  's  that,'  says 
they ;  '  you  bought  it  of  Captain  Sam  Bowen  for 
fifty  dollars.'  '  Yes,  but  see  here,'  says  Uncle 
Capen,  *  it 's  cost  me  on  an  average  five  dollars 
a  year,  for  the  ten  year  I  Ve  had  it,  for  manure 
and  ploughing  and  seed,  and  that 's  fifty  dollars 
more.'  *  But  you  Ve  sold  the  garden  stuff  off  it, 
and  had  the  money,'  says  they.  '  Yes,'  says 
Uncle  Capen,  '  but  that  money  's  spent  and  eat 
up  long  ago  !  ' 

The  minister  smiled,  shook  hands  with  Mr. 
Small,  and  went  home. 

The  church  was  crowded.  Horses  filled  the 
sheds,  horses  were  tied  to  the  fences  all  up  and 
down  the  street.  Funerals  are  always  popular 
in  the  country,  and  this  one  had  a  double  ele- 
ment of  attractiveness.  The  whole  population  of 
the  town,  having  watched  with  a  lively  interest, 


GREAT  OPPORTUNITY.  293 

for  years  back,  Uncle  Capen's  progress  to  his 
hundredth  birthday,  expected  now  some  elec- 
trical effect,  analogous  to  an  apotheosis. 

In  the  front  pews  were  the  chief  mourners, 

4 

filled  with  the  sweet  intoxication  of  pre-emi- 
nence. 

The  opening  exercises  were  finished,  a  hymn 
was  sung, — 

"  Life  is  a  span," 

and  Father  Cobb  arose  to  make  his  introductory 
remarks. 

He  began  with  some  reminiscences  of  the 
first  time  he  saw  Uncle  Capen,  some  thirty  years 
before,  and  spoke  of  having  viewed  him  even  then 
as  an  aged  man,  and  of  having  remarked  to  him 
that  he  was  walking  down  the  valley  of  life  with 
one  foot  in  the  grave.  He  called  attention  to 
Uncle  Capen's  virtues,  and  pointed  out  their 
connection  with  his  longevity.  He  had  not 
smoked  for  some  forty  years ;  therefore,  if  the 
youth  who  were  present  desired  to  attain  his  age, 
let  them  not  smoke.  He  had  been  a  total  ab- 
stainer, moreover,  from  his  seventieth  year;  let 
them,  if  they  would  rival  his  longevity,  follow 
his  example.  The  good  man  closed  with  a  feel- 


294  THE  NEW  MINISTER'S 

ing  allusion  to  the  relatives,  in  the  front  pew, 
mourning  like  the  disciples  of  John  the  Baptist 
after  his  "  beheadment."  Another  hymn  was 
sung,  — - 

"  A  vapor  brief  and  swiftly  gone." 

Then  there  was  deep  silence  as  the  minister 
rose  and  gave  out  his  text :  "  I  have  been  young, 
and  now  I  am  old'' 

u  At  the  time  of  the  grand  review  in  Washing- 
ton," he  said,  "  that  mighty  pageant  that  fittingly 
closed  the  drama  of  the  war,  I  was  a  spectator, 
crippled  then  by  a  gun-shot  wound,  and  unable 
to  march.  From  an  upper  window  I  saw  that 
host  file  by,  about  to  record  its  greatest  triumph 
by  melting  quietly  into  the  general  citizenship,  — 
a  mighty,  resistless  army  about  to  fade  and  leave 
no  trace,  except  here  and  there  a  one-armed  man, 
or  a  blue  flannel  jacket  behind  a  plough.  Often 
now,  when  I  close  my  eyes,  that  picture  rises : 
that  gallant  host,  those  tattered  flags ;  and  I  hear 
the  shouts  that  rose  when  my  brigade,  with  their 
flaming  scarfs,  went  trooping  by.  Little  as  I  may 
have  done,  as  a  humble  member  of  that  army,  no 
earthly  treasure  could  buy  from  me  the  thought 


GREAT   OPPORTUNITY.  295 

of  my  fellowship  with  it,  or  even  the  memory  of 
that  great  review. 

"  But  that  display  was  mere  tinsel  show  com- 
pared with  the  great  pageant  that  has  moved  be- 
fore those  few  men  who  have  lived  through  the 
whole  length  of  the  past  hundred  years. 

"  Before  me  lies  the  form  of  a  man  who, 
though  he  has  passed  his  days  with  no  distinc- 
tion but  that  of  an  honest  man,  has  lived  through- 
some  of  the  most  remarkable  events  of  all  the  ages. 
For  a  hundred  years  a  mighty  pageant  has  been 
passing  before  him.  I  would  rather  have  lived 
that  hundred  years  than  any  other.  I  am  deeply 
touched  to  reflect  that  he  who  lately  inhabited 
this  cold  tenement  of  clay  connects  our  genera- 
tion with  that  of  Washington.  And  it  is  impos- 
sible to  speak  of  one  whose  great  age  draws  to- 
gether this  assembly,  without  recalling  events 
through  which  he  lived. 

"  Our  friend  was  born  in  this  village.  This 
town  then  included  the  adjoining  towns  to  the 
north  and  south.  The  region  was  then  more 
sparsely  settled,  although  many  houses  stand- 
ing then  have  disappeared.  While  he  was 
sleeping  peacefully  in  the  cradle,  while  he 


296  THE  NEW  MINISTER'S 

was  opening  on  the  world  childhood's  wide, 
wondering  eyes,  those  great  men  whose  names 
are  our  perpetual  benediction  were  planning 
for  freedom  from  a  foreign  yoke.  While  he 
was  passing  through  the  happy  years  of  early 
childhood,  the  fierce  clash  of  arms  resounded 
through  the  little  strip  of  territory  which  then 
made  up  the  United  States.  I  can  hardly 
realize  that,  as  a  child,  he  heard  as  a  fresh, 
new,  real  story,  of  the  deeds  of  Lexington, 
from  the  lips  of  men  then  young  who  had 
been  in  the  fight,  or  listened  as  one  of  an 
eager  group  gathered  about  the  fireside,  or  in 
the  old,  now  deserted  tavern  on  the  turnpike, 
to  the  story  of  Bunker  Hill. 

"  And  when,  the  yoke  of  tyranny  thrown 
off,  in  our  country  and  in  France,  Lafayette, 
the  mere  mention  of  whose  name  brings  tears 
to  the  eyes  of  every  true  American,  came  to 
see  the  America  that  he  loved  and  that  loved 
him,  he  on  whose  cold,  rigid  face  I  now  look 
down,  joined  in  one  of  those  enthusiastic 
throngs  that  made  the  visit  like  a  Roman 
Triumph. 

"  But  turn  to  the  world  of  Nature,  and  think 


GREAT   OPPORTUNITY.  2Q/ 

of  the  panoramic  scenes  that  have  passed  be- 
fore those  now  impassive  eyes.  In  our  friend's 
boyhood  there  was  no  practical  mode  of  swift 
communication  of  news.  In  great  emergencies, 
to  be  sure,  some  patriot  hand  might  flash  the 
beacon-light  from  a  lofty  tower ;  but  news  crept 
slowly  over  our  hand-breath  nation,  and  it  was 
months  after  a  presidential  election  before  the 
result  was  generally  known.  He  lived  to  see 
the  telegraph  flashing  swiftly  about  the  globe, 
annihilating  time  and  space  and  bringing  the 
scattered  nations  into  greater  unity. 

"  And  think,  my  hearers,  for  one  moment,  of 
the  wonders  of  electricity.  Here  is  a  power 
which  we  name  but  do  not  know ;  which  flashes 
through  the  sky,  shatters  great  trees,  burns 
buildings,  strikes  men  dead  in  the  fields;  and 
we  have  learned  to  lead  it,  all  unseen,  from  our 
house-tops  to  the  earth ;  we  tame  this  mighty, 
secret,  unknown  power  into  serving  us  as  a 
a  daily  messenger;  and  no  man  sets  the  limits 
now  to  the  servitude  that  we  shall  yet  bind 
it  down  to. 

"  Again,  my  hearers,  when  our  friend  was 
well  advanced  in  life,  there  was  still  no  better 


298  THE  NEW  MINISTER'S 

mode  of  travel  between  distant  points  than  the 
slow,  rumbling  stage-coach  ;  many  who  are 
here  remember  well  its  delays  and  discomforts. 
He  saw  the  first  tentative  efforts  of  that  mighty 
factor  steam  to  transport  more  swiftly.  He 
saw  the  first  railroad  built  in  the  country;  he 
lived  to  see  the  land  covered  with  the  iron 
net-work. 

"  And  what  a  transition  is  this  !  Pause  for  a 
moment  to  consider  it.  How  much  does  this 
imply.  With  the  late  improvements  in  agri- 
cultural machinery,  with  the  cheapening  of  steel 
rails,  the  boundless  prairie  farms  of  the  West  are 
now  brought  into  competition  with  the  fields 
of  Great  Britain  in  supplying  the  Englishman's 
table,  and  seem  not  unlikely,  within  this  gen- 
eration, to  break  down  the  aristocratic  holding 
of  land,  and  so  perhaps  to  undermine  aristocracy 
itself." 

So  the  preacher  continued,  speaking  of  dif- 
ferent improvements,  and  lastly  of  the  invention 
of  daguerreotypes  and  photographs.  He  called 
the  attention  of  his  hearers  to  this  almost  mi- 
raculous art  of  indelibly  fixing  the  expression 
of  a  countenance,  and  drew  a  lesson  as  to  the 


GREAT    OPPORTUNITY.  299 

permanent  effect  of  our  daily  looks  and  ex- 
pression on  those  among  whom  we  live.  He 
considered  at  length  the  vast  amount  of  happi- 
ness which  had  been  caused  by  bringing  pic- 
tures of  loved  ones  within  the  reach  of  all ;  the 
increase  of  family  affection  and  general  good 
feeling  which  must  have  resulted  from  the  in- 
vention ;  he  suggested  a  possible  change  in  the 
civilization  of  the  older  nations  through  the 
constant  sending  home,  by  prosperous  adopted 
citizens,  of  photographs  of  themselves  and  of 
their  homes,  and  alluded  to  the  effect  which 
this  must  have  had  upon  immigration. 

Finally  he  adverted  to  the  fact  that  the  sons 
of  the  deceased,  who  sat  before  him,  had  not 
yielded  to  the  restless  spirit  of  adventure,  but 
had  found  "  no  place  like  home." 

"But  I  fear,"  he  said  at  last,  "that  the  interest 
of  my  subject  has  made  me  transgress  upon 
your  patience ;  and  with  a  word  or  two  more 
I  will  close. 

"  When  we  remember  what  hard,  trying 
things  often  arise  within  a  single  day,  let  us 
rightly  estimate  the  patient  well-doing  of  a  man 
who  has  lived  a  blameless  life  for  a  hundred 


3oo  THE  NEW  MINISTER'S 

years.  When  we  remember  what  harm,  what 
sin,  can  be  crowded  into  a  single  moment,  let 
us  rightly  estimate  the  principle  that  kept  him 
so  close  to  the  Golden  Rule,  not  for  a  day,  not 
for  a  decade  or  a  generation,  but  for  a  hundred 
years. 

"And  now,  as  we  are  about  to  lay  his  de- 
serted body  in  the  earth,  let  not  our  perceptions 
be  dulled  by  the  constant  repetition  in  this 
world  of  death  and  burial.  At  this  hour  our 
friend  is  no  longer  aged ;  wrinkles  and  furrows, 
trembling  limbs  and  snowy  locks  he  has  left 
behind  him,  and  he  knows,  we  believe,  to-day, 
more  than  the  wisest  philosopher  on  earth.  We 
may  study  and  argue,  all  our  lives,  to  discover 
the  nature  of  life,  or  the  form  it  takes  beyond  the 
grave;  but  in  one  moment  of  swift  transition 
the  righteous  man  may  learn  it  all.  We  differ 
widely  one  from  another,  here,  in  mental  power. 
A  slight  hardening  of  some  tissue  of  the  brain 
might  have  left  a  Shakspeare  an  attorney's  clerk. 
But,  in  the  brighter  world,  no  such  impediments 
prevent,  I  believe,  clear  vision  and  clear  ex- 
pression ;  and  differences  of  mind  that  seem 
world-wide  here,  may  vanish  there.  When  the 


GREAT   OPPORTUNITY.  301 

spirit  breaks  its  earthly  prison  and  flies  away, 
who  can  tell  how  bright  and  free  the  humblest 
of  us  may  come  to  be  !  There  may  be  a  more 
varied  truth  than  we  commonly  think,  in  the 
words,  —  'The  last  shall  be  first.' 

"  Let  this  day  be  remembered.  Let  us  think 
of  the  vast  display  of  Nature's  forces  which  was 
made  within  the  long  period  of  our  old  neigh- 
bor's life ;  but  let  us  also  reflect  upon  the  bright 
pageant  that  is  now  unrolling  itself  before  him 
in  a  better  world." 

That  evening  Miss  Maria  and  her  brothers, 
sitting  in  state  in  the  little  old  house,  received 
many  a  caller  ;  and  the  conversation  was 
chiefly  upon  one  theme,  —  not  the  funeral  ser- 
mon, although  that  was  commended  as  a  frank 
and  simple  biographical  discourse,  but  the  great 
events  which  had  accompanied  Uncle  Capen's 
progress  through  this  world,  almost  like  those 
which  Horace  records  in  his  Ode  to  Augustus. 

"  That 's  trew,  every  word,"  said  Apollos 
Carver;  "when  Uncle  Capen  was  a  boy  there 
was  n't  not  one  railroad  in  the  hull  breadth  of 
the  United  States,  and  just  think :  why  now  you 


302  THE  NEW   MINISTER'S 

can  go  in  a  Pullerman  car  clear'n  acrost  to  San 
Francisco.  My  daughter  lives  in  Oakland,  just 
acrost  a  ferry  from  there." 

"  Well,  then,  there 's  photographing,"  said 
Captain  Abel.  "It  doos  seem  amazing,  as  the 
minister  said :  you  set  down,  and  square  your- 
self, and  slick  your  hair,  and  stare  stiddy  into 
a  funnel,  and  a  man  ducks  his  head  under  a 
covering,  and  pop !  there  you  be,  as  natural  as 
life,  —  if  not  more  so.  And  when  Uncle  Capen 
was  a  young  man,  there  was  n't  nothing  but 
portraits  and  minnytures,  and  these  black- 
paper-and-scissors  portraits,  —  what  do  they 
call  'em?  Yes,  sir,  all  that  come  in  under  his 
observation." 

"  Yes,"  said  one  of  the  sons,  "  't  is  wonderful ; 
my  wife  and  me  was  took  setting  on  a  settee 
in  the  Carding  of  Eden,  —  lions  and  tigers  and 
other  scriptural  objects  in  the  background." 

"  And  don't  forget  the  telegrapht,"  said 
Maria ;  "  don't  forget  that." 

"  Trew,"  said  Apollos,  "  that 's  another  thing. 
I  hed  a  message  come  once-t  from  my  son  that 
lives  to  Taunton.  We  was  all  so  sca't  and  faint 
when  we  see  it,  that  we  did  n't  none  of  us  dast 


GREAT  OPPORTUNITY.  303 

to  open  it,  and  finally  the  feller  that  druv  over 
with  it  hed  to  open  it  fur  us." 

"What  was  there  in  it?"  said  Mr.  Small; 
"  sickness?  —  death?" 

"  No,  he  wanted  his  thick  coat  expressed  up. 
But  my  wife  did  n't  get  over  the  shock  for 
some  time.  Wonderful  thing,  that  telegraph 
—  here 's  a  man  standing  a  hundred  miles  off, 
like  enough,  and  harpooning  an  idea  chock 
right  into  your  mind." 

"Then  that  was  a  beautiful  truth,"  said  Maria: 
"  that  father  and  Shakspeare  would  like  enough 
be  changed  right  round,  in  Heaven ;  I  always 
said  father  was  n't  appreciated  here." 

"Well,"  said  Apollos,  "'tis  always  so;  we 
don't  begin  to  realize  the  value  of  a  thing  tell 
we  lose  it.  Now  that  we  sort  o'  stand  and  gaze 
at  Uncle  Capen  at  a  fair  distance,  as  it  were,  he 
looms.  Ef  he  only  hed  n't  kep'  so  quiet,  always, 
about  them  'ere  wonders.  A  man  really  ought, 
in  justice  to  himself,  to  blow  his  own  horn  — 
jest  a  little.  But  that  was  a  grand  discourse, 
wa*  n't  it,  now?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Maria,  "though  I  did  feel 
nervous  for  the  young  man.  Still,  when  you 


304  THE  NEW  MINISTER'S 

come  to  think  what  materials  he  had  to  make  a 
sermon  out  of,  —  why,  how  could  he  help  it! 
And  yet,  I  doubt  not  he  takes  all  the  credit 
to  himself." 

"  I  should  really  have  liked  to  have  heard 
Father  Cobb  treat  the  subject,"  said  Mrs. 
Small,  rising  to  go,  and  nodding  to  her  hus- 
band. "  'T  was  a  grand  theme.  But  't  was  a 
real  chance  for  the  new  minister.  Such  an 
opportunity  doesn't  happen  not  once  in  a 
lifetime." 

The  next  morning,  after  breakfast,  on  his 
way  home  from  the  post-office,  the  minister 
stopped  in  at  Dr.  Hunter's  office.  The  Doctor 
was  reading  a  newspaper. 

Mr.  Holt  took  a  chair  in  silence. 

The  Doctor  laid  down  the  paper  and  eyed 
him  quizzically,  and  then  slowly  shook  his 
head. 

"  I  don't  know  about  you  ministers,"  he 
said.  "I  attended  the  funeral;  I  heard  the 
biographical  discourse;  I  understand  it  gave 
great  satisfaction;  I  have  reflected  on  it  over 
night  ;  and  now,  what  I  want  to  know  is, 


GREAT    OPPORTUNITY.  305 

what  on  earth  there  was  in  it  about  Uncle 
Capen." 

The  minister  smiled. 

"I  think,"  he  replied,  "  that  all  that  I  said 
about  Uncle  Capen  was  strictly  true." 


University  Press  :  John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge. 


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